Syn (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 2)

by Malcolm Hollingdrake

  Mason, leaning on one of the side walls, requested that the film be paused. ‘We need the best image we have, enhanced if at all possible, to accompany the one we have put out of Briggs. There’s little point in watching more if we know the area where they were last seen on camera. We’re wasting precious time, people. Neither man looks stressed, nor under threat. That could have changed. Let’s find them and fast!’

  Tony checked the notes. ‘Last seen heading towards the entrance of Scarisbrick Avenue. No other sightings as yet but they’re still looking. We can assume they might have got a lift from there.’

  Mason smiled at Tony. ‘We can make a calculated guess. Lucy, contact the local taxi companies. What time did we have them walking from The Gallopers? Check to see if anyone picked up two men in that area after.’ He looked at Tony.

  Tony slid the marker back to the point on the video. ‘10.17, sir.’

  ‘We’ll presume they met no one else. They either had a taxi ordered or telephoned for one. Describe them. No, hold on. Can we send a screen shot, Tony?’ Mason looked inquisitively hoping for a positive response and smiled when Tony nodded.

  Within seconds the shot was stored on file and referenced. He scribbled the reference number and handed it to Lucy. Control would put the calls out immediately, attaching the images to the companies’ websites. They, in turn, would pass it on to their drivers or contract drivers. If they were working late, they might not pick the message up immediately.

  The female police officer placed a glass of water in front of Nicola.

  ‘He’d gone out for lunch. He was late leaving. When he left he seemed so down. I could have cried for him. However, when he got back, he seemed like a different person. He was brighter and more positive.’ She sipped the water and moved the tissue to her eyes. ‘He was quite excited and certainly different from when he left.’

  ‘Do you know why there was such a change in his mood?’

  ‘No. He didn’t come over to chat like I expected. He went to his treatment room. He waved and shouted that he’d forgotten to contact someone but didn’t say who. Within a few minutes, his client arrived. Luckily, she was a little late, and Carlos came out straight away. I don’t think he made the call after all.’

  ‘Does he have a girlfriend or boyfriend he might have met up with?’

  She shook her head. ‘If he did, we’d have all known about it believe you me. He would readily talk about some of his past dalliances. They would make you blush, believe me.’

  ‘Explain.’

  ‘He used to be very carefree. You could say a bit too easy if you get my meaning. It was not good for him and certainly not good for his work. I nearly sacked him on a couple of occasions when he seemed to arrive here as if he’d just left someone’s bed. Carla saved him really. She worked with him and gave him the guidance he needed. Many lads his age would have rebelled but he seemed to heed her advice. It was she who got him onto the straight and narrow. That’s why the name – Carlos. He worshipped her.’

  Skeeter immediately wondered if they were looking for one of those past partners, but then, why kill three people, both male and female? Why kill at all? ‘Did the saying, the mantra, have anything to do with Carlos?’

  She witnessed an immediate improvement in Nicola and a smile brushed her lips. ‘We’ve just had the saying added to the wall of his treatment ro—’ her voice trailed off thoughtfully and a puzzled look appeared on her face. ‘When we were doing it, my partner and Carlos, that is, they moved the furniture. The room used to be Carla’s as you know. It was then he found a notebook, a red one. He told Jim he’d been looking for it for ages. Now that I come to think about it, I remember seeing Carla with a small, red book.’

  ‘Could it be the same one? Could that be why he wanted to call someone do you think? Is it still at the salon?’

  Nicola spread her hands suggesting she was not sure. ‘He could’ve taken it with him.’ She removed her phone. ‘Give me a minute.’ She dialled, Jim.

  ‘Hello love. No, nothing as yet. You remember the notebook you saw Carlos had when you were doing the mural thing in his room? Can you nip into the salon and see if it’s there? Look in his treatment room, check the drawers. See if it’s in the kitchen and search his locker, it’s never locked. If it is, the combination is 0000. He was nothing if not original. Thanks. I’m still with the police. Ring me if you have it.’

  ‘Thanks.’ Skeeter put a hand on hers.

  ‘It will take about thirty minutes. Is that okay?’

  ‘Skeeter smiled. I’m going to have to leave you with Mary here. She’ll let me know when you hear about the missing book. Believe me, we’re doing everything possible to find him.’

  Bill Rodgers and Debbie Sutch were ushered into the first Interview Room where DC Fred Quinn was arranging photographs on the table. Both looked flustered and uncomfortable. He welcomed them but did not manage to introduce himself fully before Sutch spoke.

  ‘I know Brian, or Carlos, as they called him. Any news?’ There was genuine anxiety trapped within the question. Her voice was shaky.

  ‘Be assured we’re working very hard to find him. We’d like you to look at these photographs but there’s one in particular I’m interested in. This one.’

  They sat and each looked at the same photograph. The image had been transposed from the CCTV as also had the one taken at the party.

  ‘I’ve seen him before.’ Debbie spoke first, lifting the photograph.

  Fred watched, as she screwed up her face, as if trying to squeeze the answer out from every pore.

  ‘I don’t know his name but I remember him. God, yes! I do now. I trod on his foot accidentally when we were outside that pub down the side street near The Scarisbrick. You grabbed him and we all thought he was going to shit himself.’ She looked at Bill who blushed, and glanced at Fred before nodding.

  ‘I didn’t hit him. I just grabbed him. I thought he’d deliberately crashed into Debs.’ Rodgers protested his innocence guiltily.

  Fred raised his eyebrows, aware of the case notes from his previous conviction.

  ‘I’ve seen him a couple of times since, he’s usually on his own. Sad fella really.’

  ‘And you didn’t hit him? There was no altercation at all?’ Fred looked between the two of them.

  ‘Definitely not. I just grabbed him.’

  ‘And I stood between them and pushed this fella away. I could sense the guy’s fear and I could also see Bill’s anger. Since his conviction he listens to me. The rest of the group would just goad him to self-destruct. He’s quite capable of that if he’s had too many, be a real daft sod.’

  Rodgers looked at his hands, his head nodding in agreement.

  ‘Who was there on that occasion? Can you remember?’

  It was upon hearing this question that something struck them both. Debbie’s hand moved across to cover Bill’s, and her other went to her mouth. ‘Oh Christ!’

  Skeeter hurried back to the room in which Nicola was waiting. On arrival she saw a man she presumed to be Jim standing by her. In her hand was the notebook. She waved it with a look of relief on her face.

  ‘It was in the same place where he’d found it, beneath the bottom drawer. He’d taped it. It’s definitely Carla’s. I remember seeing it.’ She handed it to Skeeter. ‘It’s her writing and those are definitely her doodles. She was always scribbling, especially when she was on the phone to clients.’

  Turning the page, Skeeter immediately saw the doodles. She flicked the next page slowly and narrowed her eyes as if trying to see if the squiggles were significant. Turning another page, she then saw the first initials, dates and number. She continued. Moving to the white board she jotted down the details in the order in which they appeared within the book. CJ, FL, CG, BR and PW. She then circled the initials CJ, wrote Cameron Jennings, and linked it with an arrow.

  ‘Any other ideas?’ She looked at Nicola.

  ‘BR could well be Bill Rodgers. He was a past boyfriend and she was still seeing
him before she died.’

  Skeeter added a circle around the initials CG, and wrote the name Craufurd Gaskell before turning to look at them both. ‘Know him?’

  ‘He owned the flat Carla and Callum rented on Lord Street, I think. Strange name, that’s why I remember it.’

  ‘Correct. What of the others?’

  Both turned to look at each other but then shook their heads almost in unison.

  ‘Just a minute!’ Skeeter left the room returning a few minutes later with a photograph of Craufurd. ‘Is this him?’ She tapped the board by his name.

  ‘Yes. I saw him a couple of times at their parties. We didn’t go to every one but I remember Carla saying that he refused to go to them all, something about looking after the other tenants’ interests whatever that meant. Compromised his landlord status.’

  Skeeter looked back at the board and then her focus returned to Nicola and Jim. ‘You’ve been most helpful. Thank you. We’ll hang on to this and keep you informed over the coming few days.’ Skeeter prepared to leave. They both appeared a little shocked. ‘We’ll find him.’

  They stood, turning to leave. Jim slipped his arm around her shoulders as Skeeter let her fingers flick again through the pages. ‘Nicola, one last thing. The private evening work you both did, one night a week, I was told. What was it?’

  There was no look of surprise on Nicola’s face as she turned back. ‘Friends, people who couldn’t get in during the day or needed something special. These things help make the wheels go round in our industry. People always want to feel special and as a salon we help to fulfil that.’

  ‘Doing what?’

  ‘Nails, that’s my thing. They can be intricate, and if you are going to a special event you do them as late as possible.’

  ‘And Carla, what did she offer?’

  ‘What nobody else could. CACI treatment. It was her thing.’

  ‘Thanks. As I say, we’ll keep you fully informed.’

  She knew that the chance of their locating a body was far more likely than finding Carlos alive. They too would be very much aware of that. Now she needed to identify the two missing characters from the notebook.

  Chapter 25

  April was perching on a desk in the Incident Room, in conversation with Mason. Skeeter dropped the notebook onto the desk and tapped it with her finger. Both Mason and April turned to look.

  ‘Found by Briggs in what was Carla’s treatment room. If you recall she did foreigners one night a week, as did Nicola. Supposedly it’s some new-fangled beauty treatment, and she was teaching Briggs the techniques. This little book might just shed more light on the type of treatment she was providing or selling. Nicola had an evening too, but she worked on nails so I doubt many men came in for that.’

  Mason turned to look at her. ‘Sex?’

  ‘Study the initials. I’ll leave you to draw your own conclusions.’ Skeeter grinned.

  ‘Bill Rodgers, Cameron Jennings, possibly, and could that be Gaskell, the flat owner?’ April scanned the board until she located his name. ‘Craufurd?’

  ‘Just two to go to win the speed boat.’ Skeeter mimicked a popular television presenter.

  Mason laughed. ‘Didn’t think you were old enough, Warlock.’

  Kasum moved across to the group. ‘We have positive IDs on both from the Sir Henry. They ate there last night. Paid cash. One of the staff believes she’s seen both of them before, but not together. One, she thinks, is called Frank, but she was not one hundred percent certain.’

  April let her fingers open the page showing the initials FL.

  ‘That’s not all,’ Kasum continued. ‘We have a contact from Coastline Taxis. One of their drivers picked up two men at the entrance to Scarisbrick Avenue at about ten fifteen last night. He recalls one was Carl, but that’s all he can remember. Dropped them at the end of Rotten Row. There was no specific address. The driver said the one who paid told him he lived just down the road.’

  ‘The name Carl could easily be confused with Carlos. You wouldn’t always match a short English chap with the name, Carlos.’ She nodded at Kasum. ‘Thanks, Kasum. Go with Skeeter. You’re going to bring in Craufurd Gaskell. There’s to be no ifs or buts. He’ll not argue with either of you, I feel sure. Arrest him if he does and caution him.’

  ‘For what?’ Kasum asked, uncertain if a crime had been committed.

  ‘Obstructing the police in the line of their enquiries … Christ! Make something up!’

  Simon Taylor answered his phone; he could see the call was from Craufurd.

  ‘Did you get contacted by the coppers this morning at some God forsaken time?’ The voice was tinged with anger and a hint of fear.

  ‘Indeed, Craufurd, and to make matters worse, they raped my bloody phone before my very eyes. Told me it was fucking legal. I could hear the poor thing protesting. You, too, from the panic in your voice. Still have the sordid movies, do we?’

  There was silence from the other end of the phone but he could hear the intake of breath. ‘Well?’

  ‘Fortunately, no. Transferred them on your sound advice. They’re on separate memory sticks here in the flat but they won’t be after today.’

  ‘Those sordid movies of you and Carla. Taking advantage of a drunk. You should be ashamed. You’re old enough to be her father!’

  ‘I’m not, and she consented on most occasions. Besides, the mistake was showing you!’ Craufurd snapped defensively.

  ‘You had to after I found the hidden spy camera secreted in what was their bedroom linked to your phone. I could have ruined you and taken you to the cleaners, man.’

  There was silence. ‘It was off when you moved in and I unfortunately forgot to remove it. I made a mistake. That’s what jealousy and infatuation does to a man of my age as you should know. Besides, you received compensation for the error in the form of rent-free accommodation for the duration. Let’s come back to today’s intrusion. I was informed that the person committing the murders was supposedly at one or more of the parties held here in the flat. They’ve added a picture of the guy who’s gone missing and the killer, although they don’t refer to him as that. However, they’ve asked the public not to approach them but to call 999 if they see either. I don’t recognise him. Take a look. Ring me if you do.’

  ‘Maybe he was on one of your videos?’

  Craufurd quickly hung up.

  The Incident Room was buzzing with activity. The photographs received from both Taylor and Gaskell were being filtered and the relevant images taken at the parties were being processed. It was during this procedure that an mp4 was located. It was the only one. It stood out like a sore thumb within the files. To those officers trained in IT investigation, this proved unusual. Considering most people have a phone that will shoot video, many store them within their files. They were usually street incidents or concerts. The eight-minute movie was immediately dispatched to April. Discarding what she was doing she opened the file and watched. It showed Carla lying on the settee in what she presumed was Gaskell’s apartment. She was naked and appeared to be asleep. Moments later Gaskell appeared. He too was naked.

  Brian sat on the chair to the back of the garage, the same chair to which Carla had been taped. Silver gaffer tape secured his arms and his legs; a knotted rag filled his mouth. Lloyd had to admit that from a distance, and in the hazy light, it could well have been Carla.

  ‘Do you recognise the car? You saw Carla in it when you were running. I noticed you, in fact, she pointed you out. The police have been looking for it. In the trade see, work with number plates, trade plates, cars. That bit was easy.’

  The same dim light filtered into the room through the wired glass window set high in the wall. Carlos struggled against the tape that bound him and his guttural grunts conveyed a blend of anger and fear.

  ‘Why do people get into cars with their killer is the question that’s going through your mind right now? Carla did. She hesitated for a moment but then got in. Jennings did. He climbed out of his and into mine.
The only one who hasn’t so far is Groves. He stayed in his own. He drove himself to our rendezvous, the carpark and that saved me a job. I have one more to persuade, just one. The toughest nut to crack is yet to come but now there’s you, Carlos. Where were we? Getting into vehicles with a stranger. You climbed into a taxi with me. Yes, you very nearly didn’t but in the end you did. Carla was the same. She was uncertain but when I told her that Nicola had had been in an accident and she had directed me to her, she was quick to get in the car. For you it was the thought of sex, for Jennings too. You won’t believe me, Carlos, but I’m truly sorry for all of this. It wasn’t my fault. I didn’t start it. It was Carla and her crowd and that bully she was meeting, Bill Rodgers. They all started it and there was no justification. I promised myself that I would always seek retribution when I experienced injustice, and I have. Years ago, when I was a timid youth, I had a poster on my wall of Jean-Claude Van Damme. Although I realised I couldn’t be like him, I could, using other means and methods, seek and gain revenge. Some of those present have been labelled and dealt with. See.’

  From a bench, he collected a book containing their photographs taken throughout their ordeal. ‘Look, it’s Carla, your dear Carla. She was the first, the one who goaded Bill on. She wanted him to fight with me, hurt me. I could see that. I also believed she knew who I was, and just like on the previous occasion when we’d met, she lacked all human kindness. Yes, you’ll tell me she was drunk and not like that at all. She was good to you, I know that, but she harboured a secret and she could be cruel. Did you realise that?’

  Lloyd could see the confusion written large across the younger man’s face.

  ‘She was a whore and a cruel one at that. Look!’ He removed the book containing the photographs. ‘Here she is just before she died. You don’t think that’s her, do you? She’s hidden behind the goggles but that’s her. She was crying. It is Carla, trust me. See, here’s a photograph of her face.’