Slow Slicing (DI Bliss Book 7)

by Tony J. Forder

  ‘They’ll verify what you just told us, I take it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  ‘These girls have agents?’ Chandler said.

  ‘Sure. Well, the stars do. There are your low-level sorts, of course, the ones who do a bit of escorting on the side and some seedy amateur stuff and a bit of fluffing, but the top-tier birds can earn a fortune. The better the gig, the bigger the money, so yes, they have agents.’

  Bliss nodded and started to move towards the door. They were done here. He did not offer to shake hands this time. ‘Thanks for your eventual cooperation. You think you’ve not said a lot, but there’s plenty to hear in the things you didn’t say, too. Though I have to say, I’m surprised you’re holding back on us, what with three of your old pals being missing.’

  ‘Who says I’m holding anything back?’

  ‘I do. But you claim you don’t know anything, so clearly you can’t help us. Now, back to the young girl out there.’

  Twenty minutes later, they were outside in the car park. Swift had provided them with names and contact details for the porn actress and her agent. As expected, he had no documentation confirming the girl having sex on camera was of legal age; Bliss insisted on the filming being interrupted, allowing him and Chandler to talk to the kid. She came into the office with a towelling dressing gown wrapped around her, held tight to her throat, and declined to provide her real name. An Eastern European national, she spoke reasonable English and insisted she was sixteen. Up close, she did appear slightly older than Bliss had initially thought, so he decided not to push; any crime here was not hers. But he made a mental note to have the local police follow up on Swift’s operation.

  As they walked to the car, Chandler turned on him – as he had known she would. ‘You were hard on him, Jimmy. Why did you keep pushing his buttons?’

  ‘Because he was trying to play us and I wanted to keep him off balance. Plus, the girl’s age was too close to call, or let go.’

  ‘But did you have to smack his head against the wall like that?’

  ‘I thought so. It seemed like a reasonable idea while I was doing it.’

  ‘Five times?’

  ‘Is that all? I must be slipping. Look, the man’s a creep, and no way was he telling us everything.’

  ‘He certainly knows more than he’s letting on, I’ll give you that.’

  ‘Yep. But did you clock his face at the end there when I reminded him three of his mates were missing? That kind of reaction can’t be faked, can it? He somehow knew Tommy was missing, but doesn’t appear to have a clue about what happened to him afterwards. Nor the other two, for that matter. Which leaves him in the clear, at least.’

  ‘As far as Harrison is concerned, yes. But he’s wrapped up in this somehow.’

  ‘Absolutely. Did you see his reaction when I mentioned Geraldine Price had been sliced up?’

  Chandler nodded. ‘I did. For a moment I thought you’d slipped up. Then I realised you’d put it out there deliberately.’

  Bliss pinched the bridge of his nose, a headache starting to build between his eyes. ‘Yeah. I know I took a chance releasing such a crucial piece of intelligence, but I thought it was worth the risk. We all agreed earlier to release that information to the media today anyway, and I was looking for something to provoke a reaction from him.’

  ‘Well, you certainly did that.’

  ‘Or rather, I didn’t. For someone who shouldn’t know the details of what happened to Geraldine Price, he was pretty unmoved by it.’

  Twenty-Two

  ‘I have to say, you seem pretty chipper today,’ Chandler said as they dropped off the A1, hoping to speak with Mrs Carlisle before they returned to HQ for lunch. Bliss eased off the accelerator; if you yawned or blinked while driving through the tiny village of Glatton, you’d miss it entirely.

  He turned his head briefly. ‘Chipper? What happened, did you wake up in the 1920s? Have you become a flapper overnight, Pen?’

  Alongside him, Chandler did her best impression of a moth, followed swiftly by a seated version of the Charleston. He laughed along. In truth, he was doing well, despite feeling as if he needed a shower after visiting Swift’s seedy little empire.

  ‘No, seriously,’ she said. ‘There’s something different about you today. Other than wanting to take Swift’s head off – which I completely understand – you seem relaxed. If I didn’t know better, I’d say you got…’ Chandler let her voice trail off, and her mouth formed an O as she shifted in her seat to face him. ‘Oh. My. God. You did, didn’t you? You went and got yourself laid?’

  Bliss screwed his face up, feigning distaste. ‘Oh, please,’ he said. ‘Is that any way to talk to your boss?’

  She poked him in the ribs with her finger. ‘No, but it is the way I talk to my friend. What happened? Who was it? I hope you used protection.’

  Bliss snorted. ‘Protection? Pen, my ball sack is so old and dry it contains mainly dust these days.’

  Now it was her turn to pull a face; her disgust was genuine. She held up both hands. ‘Okay, okay. Sorry I brought it up. Just please never say anything like that again in my presence. As it is, I’ll need to scour my brain with acid and a wire brush to get rid of the mental image.’

  ‘Serves you right. Hopefully that’ll teach you not to pry.’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Come on, old man. Dish the dirt. Who was it? Please tell me it was the bone woman and not Lois Lane.’

  He knew better than to keep trying to fend her off. Chandler was relentless in her own way. He thought back to the previous night, and told his partner a little of how it had panned out. But not all – not by a long way. Emily had taken him by surprise, and her unexpected arrival at his door was precisely what he’d needed, though he hadn’t realised it until afterwards. No time for planning and looking to impress, no time for anxiety, no time to find a reason not to let it happen. She had dropped her bag on his hallway carpet, kissed him on the lips, and then led him upstairs to bed. Their first attempt was awkward and fumbling, as befitted a couple who had not slept together in fifteen years. Afterwards, they went back downstairs, where they sat together in his recliner and talked for hours, before moving up to the bedroom and trying again; they had far greater success the second time around.

  His improved mood today wasn’t solely due to the extra surge of oxytocin or dopamine in his system, either. The emotional reconnection meant far more to Bliss than the physical one. It conjured up many happy memories, of course, but it also gave him an insight into a future he had stopped imagining a long time ago. Emily somehow breached his defences, seeing him for all he was, all he could be. If she declared herself happy, he owed it to himself to consider the possibilities such a relationship offered. No commitment – at least, not immediately. Few expectations, and certainly none for which they were not fully prepared. He had imagined Emily would want more at this stage of her life, but had previously neglected to ask her. He’d turned his back at a time when he ought to have been opening up his heart. Now she was in his life once again, and the fit felt right. Comfortable.

  ‘I’m thrilled for you,’ Chandler told him, gently punching his arm. ‘And it’s about bloody time. I don’t mean the… I mean you and Emily. Whatever you and Bannister had was never going to work out. You and our bone woman, however, are perfect for each other.’

  Her reaction delighted him, but he was keen to play it down. ‘Pen, don’t go getting your hopes up and making it something it’s not. There’s no need to buy a hat. We’ve had one drink and one night together so far – that’s all.’

  ‘For the moment.’

  Bliss nodded. ‘Yeah. And the issue of my illness is still there. It hasn’t gone away overnight.’

  ‘I know that, Jimmy. But you’ve taken a step in the right direction. That has to be a positive thing.’

  ‘It is. It was. Now, can we refocus and get back to the bloody
investigation?’

  The Carlisle property stood next to the village hall, directly opposite St Nicholas’s church. A relatively new build, Bliss imagined the large two-storey house had not been an inexpensive purchase; ill-gotten gains, no doubt. As he gazed at it, he wondered if Carlisle was a man with only a past to gloss over, or if the present had subsequently intruded on his life and those of his family.

  They found Lesley Carlisle at home, but after introducing themselves she told them she was due to leave for work shortly and could not afford to be late. A tall, slightly stooped woman who looked to be in her sixties, Ben Carlisle’s wife had a slender build and suspicious eyes. They darted everywhere, imbued with doubt as they took in everything they fell upon. Bliss didn’t think a lot slipped by this woman, but life had wearied her. She looked haggard, and the heavy makeup she had slathered on did little to conceal the lines of neglect.

  ‘Whereabouts do you work?’ Bliss asked, conversationally.

  ‘The Addison pub. Here in the village, on the road out to Sawtry.’

  Bliss knew the place; they had driven past it on their way in. ‘I’m surprised you’ve not taken time off. With your husband missing, I’m sure your employers would make allowances.’

  ‘I like to be busy. It helps keep my mind off other things.’

  ‘That’s perfectly understandable,’ Chandler said. She smiled at the woman. ‘May we come in, Mrs Carlisle? I understand if you have to shoot off soon, but we do have a few questions for you.’

  ‘I have already spoken to the police.’

  ‘Of course. But not to us.’

  Carlisle sighed, turned and led them along a short passageway and into the kitchen. ‘Nice place,’ Bliss said, keeping it breezy. He felt the coolness of the stone floor through the soles of his shoes. The cabinets and appliances sparkled as if they were brand new.

  ‘Yes, well, my Ben worked hard for his family.’

  Bliss would have liked nothing more than to dispute her claim. Instead he said, ‘You have children?’

  ‘Two boys. Both adults now, of course. Making lives of their own.’

  ‘How long since you moved up from London?’

  ‘Twenty-odd years.’

  ‘Big move. I should know. Still, I’m surprised you don’t live nearer to your friends.’

  ‘Friends? What friends?’

  ‘Mr and Mrs Swift.’

  The woman’s mouth became a slit. She raised her eyebrows before responding. ‘Freddy is Ben’s mate. I barely know the man. And the little I do know, I don’t care for.’

  ‘I see. I thought all you London exiles stuck together. I naturally assumed you were close, considering you all came from the same area originally.’

  ‘Like I say, they were Ben’s friends, not mine. Listen, I don’t mean to be rude, but what’s this all about? Do you have news about my Ben or not?’

  ‘No – sorry if we gave that impression,’ Chandler replied. ‘We came to ask if anything had changed over the past week or so. If you’d remembered anything else about the day your husband went missing.’

  The woman sighed heavily and fussed around with a small flower arrangement on her kitchen counter. ‘Don’t you think I would have called you people if I had? Look, Ben went out for a walk with the dogs. He took the same route every day, up Denton Road and out onto the public bridleway. That’s where Duke and Major were found.’

  ‘Your two dogs, yes?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Tell me something,’ Bliss said. ‘Your husband took the dogs out, and the dogs were later found running around in the field. What happened in between?’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘Well, as I understand it, they were discovered three hours or so after your husband left home. Were you not concerned about his absence before that?’

  ‘Of course. It was me who got our neighbours involved searching for them. I called Ben’s phone, but there was no answer. I went out, saw no sign of him. A couple of people noticed me, saw how frantic I was. I told them what had happened, and they helped me look. It was one of them who spotted the dogs.’

  Bliss gave it some thought. He assumed whoever had taken Mrs Carlisle’s statement had made a note of the number she had called and had sought to trace its activity. He made a mental note to request all relevant information from Huntingdon police.

  ‘Tell me, Mrs Carlisle,’ he said, ‘what do you think happened to your husband?’

  The woman bristled. ‘I’m sure I have no idea. Now, I must be going.’

  ‘We’re trying to work with you here, but you seem more intent on getting away than you do in assisting us with our enquiries.’

  Carlisle reached for her soft leather handbag, which was hanging on the kitchen door. ‘I don’t want to lose my job. I might need it now if… if Ben’s not coming back.’

  Nodding, Bliss said, ‘Understood. I promise I won’t take up a lot more of your time. But this is important. Clearly your husband didn’t set out in the morning to leave you and walk away from his life. He didn’t take anything with him, and I’m sure if he’d intended not coming home he would never have taken the dogs and allowed them to run loose. I had a couple of labs myself, and I know I wouldn’t have left them on their own in a field. There was a major search of the area by police and volunteers later the same day and into the next, but nothing was found. No evidence either way, but certainly nothing to suggest your husband was still in the area, hurt or otherwise. So, did you ask yourself at any point whether his past might have caught up with him?’

  This was the question he had been leading up to, and Bliss could see it had struck a nerve. Lesley Carlisle’s cheek twitched as she bit down hard. Anger lit a flame in her eyes, but he saw it was half-hearted – more the kind of response she thought he was expecting than a true measure of how she felt.

  ‘Come on, Mrs Carlisle,’ he said, softer this time. ‘You must have known we would eventually look into your husband’s background.’

  ‘It was all such a long time ago,’ she snapped.

  ‘As if time makes any difference at all. Either way, I’m sure you realise, as I do, that the kind of people your husband consorted with in those days have long memories. So let me ask you again: do you think his disappearance is a consequence of something he may once have been involved in?’

  Mrs Carlisle tipped back her head and eased out a long sigh. She hooked her bag over one shoulder, then folded her arms beneath her chest and considered her next words with great care. ‘Inspector Bliss, the truth is that while of course I’ve asked myself the same question, I have no idea as to the answer. Ben is Ben. He did what he did. Provided he kept it outside of our home and away from the kids, I didn’t ask questions. When we left London, we left that life behind us.’

  ‘That may not be the case. Just because Ben walked away doesn’t mean he was forgotten about.’

  ‘I’m starting to realise that.’

  ‘So you do think it’s possible?’

  ‘Well, of course. I’d be foolish not to. What I am certain of is that Ben hasn’t done anything to cause somebody to… to take him, hurt him… kill him… since we moved up here. So yes, if someone has done something to him, then it probably has links to his past.’

  ‘Does the name Tommy Harrison ring a bell?’ Chandler asked, stepping in as Bliss regrouped.

  ‘No. Should it?’

  ‘I’m not sure. How about Earl Dobson?’

  ‘No. Nothing.’

  ‘How about the Price family? Andy? Geraldine? Or Robert Naylor?’

  Bliss saw recognition register in the woman’s rigid features. She swayed, reaching out for the kitchen counter to steady herself. ‘Are you telling me this has something to do with what happened to that Price woman a quarter of a bloody century ago?’

  ‘You knew Geraldine?’ Chandler pursued it, her face stern.

>   ‘I knew of her. Bob Naylor was a known face, and I heard about his daughter. It was tragic. That’s as far as it goes.’

  ‘Did Ben ever talk about them? Did he know any of them?’

  ‘I don’t know for certain. But I think he must have, because he lived on the same estate as the family. It was hard not to know your neighbours in those days. But what does Ben have to do with any of this?’

  ‘We’re not saying he does,’ Bliss answered. ‘However, Freddy Swift was interviewed under caution in relation to Mrs Price’s murder, and someone else of interest to us in a current investigation was part of the same social scene. And in the middle of it all, your husband’s name keeps cropping up.’

  Carlisle hung her head. Deflated now, her strong will was spent. She had wilted under questioning. Yet Bliss sensed she was telling them the truth – or a pretty close approximation of it. He waited for her to look back up at them before continuing.

  ‘Mrs Carlisle, may I have a quick look around your living room? I won’t be a moment.’

  Perplexed by this shift in emphasis and the odd request, the woman nodded and closed her eyes. Bliss went into the next room, found what he was looking for, and came straight back to join his partner. He held up the book he was carrying.

  ‘Interesting subject,’ he said. ‘Death By A Thousand Cuts. Is this your husband’s book?’

  Her eyes focussed on the cover for a moment, then she shook her head. ‘No. Ben must have borrowed it from somebody.’

  ‘Recently? This book was published ten or twelve years ago. I know because I came across it by chance when I was researching another subject. So if Ben did borrow it, you’d probably know who from.’

  ‘I can’t be sure – but I assume it would have to be Freddy. Ben and I have a group of friends, people we’ve met since we moved here, but nobody I can think of who’d own a book like that.’