The doors of the first floor Major Incident Room flew open, Davies beaming as he waved the report in the air.

'We got him, Mick!'

Meredith looked up from his screen, the familiar buzz beginning to build, always the same when a case neared solution.

'Please tell me it's airtight.'

'As a duck's bum! It was there all along, mate. Remember the gullysucker driver, guy who found the body?'

'Yeah, go on.'

'Turned out he'd emptied the drains beforehand, anyway. The murder weapon – and you were right, it was a cutthroat razor, smart arse – was found when the vehicle was emptied and the contents filtered. Don't ask me the technical details, all in the report.

'Forensics confirm, victim's blood all over the blade. So, it hadn't been sucked up from any other drain, by the way, you should see the stuff they get from out of the gutters, amazing stuff. . . '

'I'm sure it's a riveting job, John, but can you get back to the RUI? Please?

'Also on the razor, your favourite suspect Released Under Investigation. Yup, it was Ridings DNA, too! As I say, we bloody got him, Mick!'

'Yesss!' Meredith punched the air, then looked around sheepishly; he hated when the telly showed cops doing that!

'Want me to give his brief a bell, warn him in?'

'You know, JD, I have a sudden urge for a drive around the Wirral, grab your coat, mate!'

Riding lay on the bed, waiting for the knock on his door.

He stared up at the immaculate brickwork, appreciating the skill and craftsmanship that had gone into every inch of the small room.

These guys certainly knew how to build!

Travelling had given him a newfound admiration for architecture, wandering around modern Merseyside, enjoying the gorgeous old buildings, marvelling at how well they'd stood the test of time.

With a press of a button, he could wander around the same area, watching the teams of brickies and chippies actually constructing the same buildings.

He'd spend hours watching them, marvelling at their skill, amused that not a hard hat or Hi-Viz jacket was in sight!

He'd even gone back to see the very foundations of his own house being formed. Sneaking onto the site at night, carving his initials into the underside of a floorboard, then seeing how the same marks had aged over a century and a half back in his time. Always, he was drawn back, skipping through the months until the 'new' residence stood complete and waiting for the skeletal neighbours to catch up.

So it was no surprise that, even in his current circumstance, he could truly admire the brickwork that arched over his head. Not one flaw in the vaulted, lime-washed ceiling, the few glass blocks (the only light source) perfectly aligned, the mortar joints perfect.

Even the stone flags on the floor were flat and perfectly level. The inset doorway held a heavy door, the hinges masterfully concealed, iron frame held with countersunk bolts that the eye struggled to see.

No wonder that this room was a modern-day tourist attraction. Well, part of the main attraction, but equally as well-built.

Tours flocked to St George's Hall, taking in the beautiful theatre, concert hall, conference rooms and galleries. The exterior was just as impressive, offering stunning neo-Grecian backdrops for weddings and movie sets alike.

But it was the old Assizes, the Liverpool High Court of Justice, that most tourists gasped at. Imposing courtroom, intimidating dock, then the trip downstairs, the Sheriff's offices (causing most American visitors some mirth) and the vast holding cell block.

Prisoners going up to Court, hoping for freedom or dreading the gallows of Walton or Kirkdale.

The Assizes had run right up to the 1970s, being replaced by the ugly, brutal concrete of the QEII Crown Court.

Still, St George's Hall was a lovely place to visit, one of Riding's favourites days out in Liverpool.

But, laying on that hard cot, feeling battered and bruised, looking up at the cell ceiling, waiting for the Judge to call him up, he would have given anything to be just a tourist here again.

FWR

08.07.24 Front Page

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