Syn (The Merseyside Crime Series Book 2)

baseball cap finished the makeover and gave it a human appearance. What really caught her eye was the slowly rotating CDs dangling from the sleeves and waist. The reflective surfaces caught the flashlight beam returning the light as they spun in the breeze.
‘This farmer has always fascinated me. He makes and hides the most magnificent scarecrows. Yes, I know you’re dressed in exactly the same clothes … as I said, you’re twins. Now, Carla, I’m going to ask you to be good just one final time.’
April Decent had walked Tico, her blue brindle greyhound, along Ainsdale beach. It was a rescue dog, proving to be gentle, loyal and good natured. Initially, he was always on the lead as he was constantly alert. If he saw something in the distance he would be gone. She had been warned that the breed can see things humans cannot and would chase anything moving; even a plastic bag caught by the wind would be fair game. Coming from racing, this new world was very different and he needed time to become accustomed to new experiences and a new way of life. In that respect, he was a bit like her.
Looking at him now, they had both succeeded. Even Sky, the neighbour’s Border Collie, had started to accept him. Tico, now curled in front of the wood-burning stove, was the picture of gentleness and peace. His right paw occasionally twitched as if linked to part of his dream. Maybe he was racing again. Who would ever know? April sipped red wine and listened to music. It was a sad song about broken boats by folk duo, The Huers. Their music had been recommended to her. She found it hard to concentrate on it now, and even though the song was beautiful her mind was elsewhere. In all her police career, women going missing without trace always brought to her a strange anxiety. How could someone, unless by their own volition, simply disappear without anyone seeing? In reality it happened frequently, and on many occasions, those missing are never found. They become vapour, ghosts but were more likely modern-day slaves.
She flicked through the notes she had brought home of the missing people logged on the Merseyside website. Age did not seem to play a part, but sex did as there appeared to be more long-term missing females than males. Carla was not the first and neither would she be the last, but she was the first on April’s watch. That upset her and made her more determined to find her. Why had this case focused her mind when the assessments had it logged as standard risk? Even Skeeter thought her foolish. She reflected on the word ‘standard’. It was a clever way of saying ‘low’, translated as ‘bugger off and stop wasting valuable police time’. Sipping more wine, an advert for condoms came to mind where clever psychology had been utilised within the wording: ‘large, medium and trim’. Trim? Nobody would admit to small. She chuckled to herself.
‘Where are you Carla Sharpe?’ she asked into her glass. ‘Where on earth can you be?’
‘In a moment we are going to walk over there. You’ll be a good girl and you will take the place of that scarecrow. It’s attached to a firm frame, I checked before. Once I leave you, I’ll send your photograph and the message to your friends and they can race to find you. They’ll check the location I send too.’ Shining the torch directly at her he studied her eyes. Everything was written in their green, yet premature rheumy depth. He could see a cocktail of fear and confusion but also a smattering of relief that the ordeal was nearly all over. ‘Will Cameron arrive first or will it be Debbie? Maybe it will be Bill? Big, strong Bully Bill.’
Removing the scarecrow from the metal armature he hooked Carla’s arms over the horizontal ‘T’ piece. Producing the Gaffer tape from his pocket, he bound her to it by securing the tape under her armpits. He strapped her to the crosspiece ensuring her body hung like that of the original. Running the tape around her waist he fastened her to the vertical upright. It was clearly a deep-rooted scaffolding pole as it never moved. Suddenly he was hit by a strong and pungent smell that was brought on a gust of wind. It immediately brought death and decay to mind. Shining his torch towards the nearby hedge and allowing the beam to slowly search along its length he saw the cause. The part decaying corpse of a small deer was just visible. Ignoring it he turned back to Carla.
‘I told you this farmer made them strong. They’re out in all winds and weathers but you, my dear, should be home by morning. That’s what friends are for. By the way, sorry for the occasional smell. That’s nature for you.’
Removing the goggles from the scarecrow, he slipped them over her cap and then over her eyes. Her world blurred immediately. From his pocket he removed the chosen CDs already prepared and attached to string. They were each placed in the same location as those on the scarecrow. One was affixed to Carla’s waist and another to each sleeve. Stepping back, he removed her phone and took two photographs. He checked them. ‘That’s not too bad, Carla. They’ll not drive past. How could they possibly fail to recognise you? You’re like the original Dr Syn. You wouldn’t know who he was though would you? At my age, neither should I. We are the product of our mother and our father’s father if our father is missing from our lives.’
Carla tried to wriggle but the tape proved too secure. The metal pole seemed rigid too. I’ll try harder when he’s gone, she thought. She watched as he carried the scarecrow to the car placing it into the boot before he returned.
‘I’m going to leave you in a minute, Carla. You still don’t remember