April moved to his side and looked at the photographs displayed on the computer screen. ‘One thing awaits investigation, the possibility of tattoo removal from arms and fingers. Interestingly, toxicology found no traces of any drugs. There are scars that show he was shot twice at some stage in his life, in the right shoulder and in the thigh. I’m assured that these were on different occasions although how they know that is anyone’s guess. Entry and exit wounds have healed, but from all accounts, there were clear signs of non-professional medical intervention.’
‘From a war zone? Middle East? Child soldier possibly? They start fighting young in order to survive. They’re made to fight or die,’ Brad remarked as he doodled an image that resembled an AK 47.
‘Eastern Mediterranean. Either they’ve got it wrong or he was a long way from home. I’ll see if they can be more specific with injury dates. Maybe he was desperate for a new life. Unskilled? Fearless? Foolish? All my speculation.’ April paused. ‘I take it we’ve posted his picture on the police website and social media?’
‘Yes. Nothing so far. Mind it was a bloody awful image. Dead men don’t smile too well no matter what computer jiggery-pokery is used.’
April did not see the funny side of his comment and her expression conveyed that.
‘Ma’am.’
Chapter 6
Skeeter brought the car to a halt on Walter Street and read the statement taken from the victim of the bike theft. Looking down the road she could see that this had not been a random snatch, it had been another well-planned and well-executed crime. The victim travelled the route daily. The street was quiet and full of parked vehicles of every description. She continued to read the report on her phone before turning to DC Tony Price, who sat beside her languidly chewing a fingernail on his right hand before opening the window and spitting it onto the pavement.
‘Bugging me for ages that bastard.’ He inspected the result of the extraction before rubbing his thumb across the roughened edge.
Skeeter scratched the back of her ear. She was now familiar with Tony’s personal hygiene and habits.
‘If you’d used a knife in this attack what would you do with it, apart from clean the rest of the crap that lurks beneath those nails of yours that is?’
He quickly glanced at his nails; she was right. ‘Need to do some baking, that’d clean them. Scones, I think. The currants would camouflage the crap.’ He turned and grinned at her knowing what kind of facial expression would greet him, then answered her question. ‘Getting rid of any weapon in Liverpool is easy owing to the bloody great body of water that runs past it and the mud that lurks beneath. Christ we’re still dredging up bombs from World War Two so the odd handgun and knife will never be found. People disappear too. Just around the corner on Regent Road, past the hotel, there’s the bridge separating the two docks, Stanley Dock and Collingwood Dock. Me? I’d chuck it into the water there. It’d most likely sink into the muddy bottom without trace, that’s if it is mud. In the past, the city used the river and sea as a shit hole so what you see isn’t actually mud at all, it’s probably years and years of accumulated turds mixed with nodders and tampons – a glorified human soup!’
‘Thank you for sharing that. Ever thought of swopping your career? Make a bloody inspiring tour guide, chef maybe?’ She rooted in her pocket, brought out a tube of mints and popped one in her mouth before returning it. ‘So, do we know they went that way?’
‘The bike was taken at 07.25 and we had a report of a phone and bag snatch along the pedestrian area by the Liver Building twenty-five minutes after. They probably used the new bike; it wouldn’t have been in the system as stolen. We’re checking ANPR to see if we can identify it having been in the area.’
At Skeeter’s suggestion they quickly swopped seats. ‘Right, drive the way you think they drove.’
Tony Price revved the car and accelerated down the narrow road towards the river, pausing at the junction before turning left. Within minutes they crossed the steel and wooden bridge that spanned the dock entrance. Tony slowed to almost walking pace. They both knew immediately that if a knife had been thrown from a moving bike then this was the most likely place. However, there was also the chance that the perpetrator would keep it for the next robbery. There would be no point in organising a search as it would be rejected on the grounds of a waste of specialist support time. A body might be different but a knife?
Skeeter glanced at the huge ruins of the tobacco warehouse.
‘Biggest brick structure in the world that when it was constructed, supposedly fireproof and to think it’s only now being converted into apartments. It’s been such a shame to see it unused for so long. The penthouses will have formidable views.’
‘And a massive mortgage – footballers and criminals only, please step this way,’ Tony mumbled cynically.
She gazed along the surrounding wall and sections of the docks, glancing at the huge, castellated stone block sentinels that formed the gateposts. Built into the high brick walls they were the entry points to the various docks, many now ruined and deserted and a far distant cry from Liverpool’s heyday.
‘They always remind me of giant rooks, you know, the chess pieces.’
Tony said nothing but increased his speed. It took them ten minutes to get to the scene where the latest snatches had occurred, but it was as if nothing had happened, normality had swiftly returned. A large city soon heals itself; there is little time to stop and lick its wounds. Skeeter knew that too well from the London terrorist atrocities. Within days, it was as if nothing had happened other than the appearance of
