April nodded. ‘It seems to make sense.’
‘We’re shortly going to have secure lockers fitted outside so we don’t have to be open. You can send and receive using your debit card and mobile phone, print labels, the whole shooting match. It’s a twenty-four-hour service.’
‘Sounds like InPost,’ Lucy responded immediately.
‘That’s it. Quick and easy and it means we don’t have to keep stuff here. Protected by three CCTV cameras it is too, so it’s really secure. You’d get better images than these as one of the cameras will be looking directly at the face of the person collecting and delivering.’
‘Unless you’re wearing a helmet or a burqa,’ April mumbled to herself but ensuring Lucy heard. ‘So, Mr Hill, the courier will have received a mobile number and other details of the person receiving the goods when this was booked by the seller?’
‘As I’ve said, they’ll receive the person’s mobile contact number and possibly an address but this shop was the collection point. Adding other information is unnecessary. The system works with few complaints considering the number of transactions. The person sent the package and it was received successfully. End of!’
‘Have you seen this person since?
‘No, on just that occasion. You’re lucky the system still had it saved.’
April handed him a memory stick and he downloaded the relevant section. Hill was just about to speak when April raised a finger. ‘Data protection … you’ll get a receipt.’
Once in the car, Lucy contacted Control giving the details they had learned from Hill and requested the courier release the mobile numbers involved and the seller’s details.
Chapter 9
Chelle rubbed the tattoo on the side of her hand. She repeated Sadiq’s words at the back of her mind: You’ve identified yourself permanently. All she knew was that she had bonded with Abid and having matching tattoos seemed romantic. The fact that they did not match was never considered an issue. Her eyes went to her wrist, she could still feel the chafed skin made red and sore from the electrician’s tie. It had been hard trying to sleep attached to the bed but it was the memory of the man’s hand that startled her awake as it had grasped either side of her face. His grip had been hard and deliberate, causing her involuntary muffled scream to be forced through her dry lips. The strong stench of onions clearly lingered on his fingers positioned deliberately too close to her flared nostrils. She recalled how she had struggled to breathe and his words.
‘Listen, bitch. Fucking thank your lucky stars you’re getting a second chance, not everyone does in our game but you know that, don’t you, Chelle.’
Chelle remembered the coldness in his eyes and the fine flecks of spittle that had hit her face.
‘You’ll now behave and forget the past as that’s gone and buried. All you need to worry about is what’s ahead as we have a busy time coming. Just do as you’re told, ride well and you’ll keep seeing the sun set.’
It was the knife in his other hand that dominated her full attention. It moved close to her eye.
‘One more chance to see the sunsets! Don’t end up a shell on the beach, Chelle.’ He emphasised the syllables of each word and then laughed at his own joke.
The blade moved quickly away and sliced through the plastic tie, releasing her wrist from the bed. He stood away. It was the moment hearing the word sunset that would remain with her.
Checking her watch, she realised there was no time for reflection, what was done was done. Slipping on the glove she twisted the throttle on the bike and moved away into the traffic. Within minutes the second bike followed. They would take routes different from the meet and there they would wait a few hundred yards apart. It was all in the planning and all about patience. When the target arrived, they would be ready; surprise would be their weapon.
They heard it before they saw it, the shrill open exhaust of the bike before it slowed, probably due to traffic. It was late. Chelle flicked down the mirror-like visor and started the bike in readiness. She knew the other bike containing the two riders would also be prepared.
The late afternoon sun sat low and a mist hung grey, a heavy mantle along the dark water of the Mersey, bringing with it a chill. The narrow streets in this area were claustrophobic, wrapped by the tall buildings that edged the dockside. It brought an early darkness, occasionally slashed only by blades of yellow-orange light that stabbed their eyes as it hit the riders’ peripheral vision. They followed the Honda Activa along the A565 before it turned left onto Howe Street. This was the moment. Both bikes followed and Chelle quickly pulled alongside the Honda rider. Initially, he had not seen the bike move to his right-hand side but he quickly registered it as it eased him into the kerbside. He moved his left hand off the bars and gestured before calling out a warning. Returning his hand, he pulled up, now gesticulating with both hands. Chelle blocked his path and turned to face her victim, her identity protected by the reflective visor.
Quasim jumped from the pillion seat of the second bike and drew a large knife, jabbing it at the Honda rider’s arm whilst shouting, ‘Run, or I’ll kill you!’
The Honda rider initially twisted away. His eyes were drawn to the blade as the two bikes seemed to surround him, like two angry wasps, their engines’ screams adding to his confused state. The noise amplified
