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

for granted. If this address was indeed that of the gang, then firearms might be present. Procedures had to be adhered to. Once instructions had been delegated, they could move. It was a matter of safety, timing and efficiency – teamwork as Mason was always banging on about. CSI would be waiting in the wings.

It took twenty minutes before Brad and Lucy approached the end of Derby Road. Owing to the dual carriageway they had to cross at the junction and approach Effingham Road from the river side. Brad pulled up and took out a print of the screen capture he had made, highlighting the square.

‘It’s up near the top.’

Once out of the car, Lucy scanned the brick buildings that dominated either side of the road. Steel, blue taking-in doors were recessed, one for each of the six floors and all looking as though they had not been used for years. There was a chill in the air as the sun failed to reach the narrow road. Cars were parked on either side and further down some units were open. Brad walked down and entered. Two men stopped working on a flatbed truck.

‘Can we help you?’ The question was neither welcoming nor cordial.

He showed his ID. ‘Information, sorry to distract you.’

Both men wiped their hands on pieces of rag as they approached. He showed them the paper.

‘Is this building occupied?’

‘The one next door is used for storage and after that they’re all empty. Been like that well on two years. Occasionally see people if we’re here late, probably security. Never see any damage to the place. Bit out of the way. Another few years and they’ll be posh flats. Funny though about half an hour ago I saw some people leaving. They had a few boxes. How strange is that?’

Lucy put her head back out of the door. She saw someone outside the building in which they were interested before they climbed into a van. She started to run in the hope of seeing the number plate before it turned left at the junction but it moved off too quickly. Brad appeared at her side. She explained. They both went to the door by which she had seen the man leave. He called Control requesting two officers to attend to stand by until access could be organised. He also gave the address and requested a search on the owners.

‘Check the places at the top for CCTV possibilities and I’ll check along the bottom road. Back here in ten.’

Regent Road boasted only a closed café and a hotel some distance away, but neither had cameras outside, nor did a chemical works opposite. He jogged back up to the car, his breathing heavy. Lucy was just returning. She watched him lean against the car gulping air.

‘Are you alright? You’re very red.’

‘Unfit and getting fat but otherwise I feel bloody brand new. Anything?’

‘There’s a camera top right at what appears to be some sort of garage but they told me it’s trained on the doors and their forecourt. There’s a monitored camera on the junction of Balliol Road. Looks directly down Millers Bridge. The lady in the garage says there’s been activity here for a few weeks. She wondered if some firm was preparing to move in. I’ve called for the junction camera to be reviewed. Time and van colour. It should give us an idea of its direction at least.’

‘Good, the woman in the garage, did you get her name?’

Lucy just looked skyward as her expression conveyed the contempt he deserved. Fortunately, the police car approached and Brad waved the driver down. It saved his receiving an earful.

Mason, alongside three officers and a Firearms Unit, approached the modern tower block. Plain police vehicles were positioned to close the road and were ready to block all entry and exit points. One was positioned across the underground automatic garage doors. As Mason’s car pulled to a halt the firearms units moved in as a semi-lockdown started.

Flamur was driving the battered Sprinter van. He was the only one in the cab. He was also very much aware of the cameras in the warehouse’s vicinity. They had always ensured they approached the area from Regent Road. The van had become a familiar sight with those working in the road. After padlocking the steel shutter on the warehouse door, Asif Rehman had been the last to climb in through the vehicle’s side opening. The van was already accelerating when he slid the door closed. The action was helped by the sudden braking as it stopped suddenly at the junction. Asif was tossed forward as the door slammed closed. Don Benson was sitting on two clingfilm wrapped cardboard boxes, holding the sides. He farted.

‘Better out than in.’ His grin spread across his naturally red face.

Asif recovered his composure and thrust a fist in Don’s chest as the pungent aroma filled the enclosed space. Doc sat quietly propped against the rear door, mulling over the recent call he had received. He was neither happy nor comfortable with the latest setbacks and he could see the writing on the wall. He would be leaving the van before the rest. For the moment, his job was done. Arrangements for his payment were in hand.

Once through Great Crosby, the van increased speed before pulling up as it came into the neighbouring Little Crosby. Doc pulled open the side door and slid out. Flamur glanced in the side mirror and caught sight of Doc’s raised hand. He pulled away. Doc would now have a fifteen-minute walk to his car. It had been left the day before on a quiet side road. After that he would become smoke and hopefully vanish for a while.

The van continued before turning onto Southport Old Road and then Broad Lane, a contradiction in terms as it was only wide enough for one vehicle. It was also a dumping ground. Strewn in places, a variety of items from televisions and asbestos sheeting to broken household furnishings