British Detective Book Series Set In Liverpool

Mersey Murder Mysteries Series by Brian L. Porter

Series Excerpt

Detective Constable Paul Ferris was in a hurry. Dashing from the kitchen of his neat, two-bedroom semi-detached home, still chewing on a piece of toast, he grabbed his jacket from the coat hook at the bottom of the stairs, throwing it on whilst running upstairs as fast as he could. His wife, Kareen, turned and smiled at her husband as he scurried into the bedroom of their son, Aaron.

“Running late again, darling?” she grinned, as she helped five-year old Aaron on with his shirt.

“Hi, Dad,” the youngster said, cheerfully.

“I have to go, Kareen,” Ferris gasped, out of breath. “It's a murder inquiry and the boss has given me an important slice of the investigation to work on. I need to get to the station and go through some files before I head off to the docks.”

“The docks? Who got killed? You hardly said two words last night when you came in.”

“We had other things on our minds last night, remember?” said Ferris, happily remembering a very intimate evening with his wife the night before. They had always made a point of trying to avoid work talk in the evenings, and Paul hadn't mentioned his current assignment yet. He'd normally have told her about the new case over breakfast, but today was different as Kareen had to take Aaron for dialysis for his failing kidneys very early, and had been forced to forego their usual breakfast chat. Paul Ferris replied to his wife, looking at his watch as he did so.

“Well, that's it, babe, we don't know who got killed.”

“What? Someone's dead and you don't know who it is? When did this happen?”

“Er, about thirty years ago.”

“Thirty years. Are you kidding me?”

“It's a skeleton, not a body.”

“Paul, make sense will you?”

“Kareen, babe, I've really got to go. Tell you later, okay?”

Quickly kissing his wife on the lips, Ferris dashed from the room, almost tripping over one of Aaron's toy cars which had been left strategically right behind where he stood.

“Be careful, Paul,” Kareen shouted, but Ferris was already halfway down the stairs, and in seconds he was out the door and pressing the unlock button on his car's remote. Another twenty seconds and the Ford Escort disappeared round the corner at the end of the street and Paul Ferris began his first full day on the investigation.

* * *

Once at his desk, Ferris lost no time in booting up his computer. One of the reasons Ross loved having Ferris on his team was the D.C's aptitude and skill in all computer-related tasks. Put simply, Paul Ferris and computer technology appeared made for each other. While Ross struggled to master the art of creating and sending an email, Ferris had the talent to use a computer to produce results Ross could only dream about. The current task assigned to Ferris was, by his own standards pretty mundane and not too challenging, but that did nothing to reduce the level of importance attached to the information he'd been asked to find. Having been fully briefed the previous day by Izzie Drake, Ferris had already sent inquiries to various organizations that would hopefully provide him with what he sought.

Most important of all had been a request for information on the company of Cole and Sons, sent the previous afternoon to Companies House in London, where details of the company registration should be available. Having checked his email and seeing nothing from his contact in the capital, Ferris picked up the phone on his desk and in a couple of minutes was engaged in conversation with Jane Hill at Companies House, a useful contact he'd cultivated during a previous investigation.

“Paul Ferris, here Jane, Merseyside Police. You helped me out last year with the Briggs investigation. Hope you remember me.”

“Of course, Paul. Good to hear from you. How are you? And that little boy of yours?”

“I'm fine, Jane, thanks. And Aaron's doing okay, still needs regular dialysis though. He's on the waiting list for a transplant, but, well, you know…”

“Sorry, Paul, yes, I know it's hard and very much a waiting game, but I'm sure things will work out for him. But, you didn't call me to talk about Aaron, did you? It's about the request you sent yesterday, Cole and Sons, right?”

“That's right,” Ferris replied. “I know it's early, but wondered if you might have anything for me yet. This time, it's not just a fraud case we're investigating. We're looking into a murder that took place some years ago, on the wharf where Cole's warehouse is, or was, seeing as it's been closed for a long time, as far as we know.”

“Hold on a minute, please Paul.” He heard the sound of Jane's fingers tapping on her keyboard, followed by the sound of rustling paper, and then her voice came back on the line.

“Sorry about that. I'd done some of the checking before I went home yesterday and just wanted to confirm something before ringing you myself.”

“You have something for me then, Jane?”

“Yes, I'll send you this in an email in a few minutes but for now, I'm sure you'd like to hear the gist of things, yes?”

“Yes, please Jane. Give me what you've got so far.”

“Right, seems Cole and Sons of Liverpool was an old family firm, and the 'Cole' of Cole and Sons was Josiah Cole, who incorporated the business back in 1898.”

“That long ago?” Ferris asked, a little surprised the warehouse had been around over a century.

“That's what it says here,” Jane Hill went on, “and Josiah eventually handed over the company title to his sons, Walter and Frederick Cole, who held joint ownership of the business until the company ceased to exist, as far as our records show, in 1955.”

“Right,” Ferris said, thoughtfully. If what Jane said was true, and it would be of course, the warehouse either changed hands or stood empty for a long time prior to the redevelopment of the docks area. He knew he still had work to do.

“Jane, what exactly was Cole and Sons business? You know, what kind of a warehouse was it?”

“It was a bonded warehouse, Paul.”

“Hmm, interesting,” Ferris replied. A bonded warehouse would have held dutiable goods, wines, spirits, tobacco and so on prior to it being exported, or until duty had been paid to allow it into the UK. Definitely enough to provide a motive for nefarious goings on, he surmised, but then realised the place had probably been closed for years before the murder. Think again, Ferris, he thought to himself. “Don't suppose your records show what happened after the Cole's closed the place down?”

“Sorry, Paul. There's only so much we can do for you. Our records can only tell you if a business was registered at that address and as far as those records are concerned, no company has ever registered as operating from that address. Maybe the Cole brothers are still alive, and may be able to help you, or perhaps your local Chamber of Commerce will have more local knowledge of what use the place was put to, if any, after it closed down.”

“Understood, Jane, and thank you. The Chamber of Commerce is the next stop on my list. Would be odd if a place like that just stood empty for so many years without being utilized in some way. Anyway, it's been good talking to you again, and thanks for all your help.”

“My pleasure, Paul. Sorry, it wasn't much. Hope you find your killer before too long though. You take care of yourself, and that family of yours.”

“I will, and you look after yourself too. Thanks again.”

After hanging up on Jane Hill, Ferris turned his attention to the local Chamber of Commerce. The secretary of the Chamber informed the detective that the old Cole & Sons warehouse had in fact been used on a number of occasions over the years, having been rented out to various small companies or individuals on short-term leases. A mail order business, a small local company specializing in the manufacture of bespoke toilet seats, and a parcel delivery company were among those who'd rented the warehouse for varying lengths of time, anything from three months to a year, but as far as the secretary was concerned, the place had then fallen into disrepair, with a leaking roof among its drawbacks, some time around nineteen sixty five, ten years after the Coles had closed their business down. When asked by Ferris if he knew whether either of the Cole brothers was still alive, the question drew a blank reply. He was advised to have a word with the chairman of the chamber, who, he was reliably informed, had been around for as long as anyone could remember and if anyone knew anything about the Cole brothers he'd be the man. So, armed with the telephone number of George Irons, Ferris took a quick coffee break and ten minutes later picked up his phone once again.

* * *

“Well, well, Walter and Frederick Cole, now there's a blast from the past,” said George Irons, after Ferris had explained the reason for his call.

“You knew them, then, Mr. Irons?”

“Oh, yes, Detective Constable, I knew them both well. They were very active in the affairs of the Chamber at one time. I was a much younger man back then and ran my own private coach business of course. Did great business with workers outings to the seaside and so on. Thirty something years ago, seems like a lifetime ago, but anyway, that's not what you want to know is it? As for the brothers, they took over the bonded warehouse when their father died, and carried on a successful business until poor Walter succumbed to a heart attack quite early in life. He'd never married so the business passed completely to his brother. Freddie carried on for a year or two but quite frankly, I don't think his heart was in the business any longer and he eventually decided to pull out. I remember he put the business up for sale as a going concern, but there were no takers. Anyway, one day he announced he'd closed the place down, just like that. The workers were all laid off, all the fixtures and fittings were sold, fork lift trucks, the lot.”

“How many people worked for, er, Freddie, Mr. Irons?”

“Ten, maybe twelve, if I'm not mistaken.”

Ferris refrained from asking if the chairman knew any of the workers. That would be too much to ask for after so many years, and of course, he wouldn't have had anything to do with the day to day business of the warehouse.

“Well, thanks for the information, Mr. Irons. Just one more question, and I'll leave you in peace.”

“It's a pleasure, Constable. Please, ask away.”

“Well, the place had lain idle for years before the docklands redevelopment began. Do you know if it's been used for any other purpose over the years, and who actually owns the place?”

“Can't help with the first part of that question, I'm afraid, but as for who owns it, well, as far as I'm aware, Freddie Cole still owns the property. I'm sure he'll be able to tell you if he's rented it out at any time over the years. If he has, it would probably have been through a letting agent, and they'd be the ones to tell you what it's been used for and who rented it.”

Ferris thanked George Irons, there being nothing else he felt he could learn of any relevance from the man. Next on his list had now become Frederick, 'Freddie' Cole. A quick check of the electoral register gave Ferris the address he needed and he decided that it was time to get some fresh air. A personal visit would give him the chance to get out from behind his desk and he was becoming deeply interested in the case. What, if anything did the Cole's warehouse have to do with the skeleton found deep underneath the waters, or in this case, the mud of their former dockside wharf?

Ferris left a message on the desk of Sergeant Drake, who he knew was out doing the rounds of local hospitals, before heading out of the building and was soon on the road, to the district of Wavertree, where Frederick Cole was registered as residing.