Slow Slicing (DI Bliss Book 7)

by Tony J. Forder

‘I’m not quite sure what you mean?’ Bliss frowned as if bemused.

  Edwards widened her expression. ‘And you can cut that look out, Inspector. I’ve seen it before, and it won’t wash this time. Feigning innocence is not your particular forte. Let me put it another way, one you might understand better: what do you think Jennifer Howey’s reaction would be to your decision?’

  Using the service therapist against him was a low blow. Howey was his Kryptonite, having seen through him with dispiritingly regular ease. ‘I’m guessing she wouldn’t be overly happy,’ Bliss admitted. ‘On the other hand, she may assign motives to my decision that don’t exist in reality. Just as you appear to be doing.’

  ‘So you didn’t go down there on your own expressly to protect your DS from the potential dangers of consorting with the ex-wife of one of the nastiest villains to run an empire in London since the sixties?’

  ‘Not exactly, no.’

  ‘Bliss?’

  When DCI Edwards used his surname, he knew he was pushing it too far. He looked to Warburton for support, but she stared back at him in silence. ‘Okay… well, not entirely. Look, boss, you know how it is when you have something in common with people and others don’t. Penny is a superb detective with a great head on her shoulders, and she’s as stoic and unruffled as they come. But there are times when like opens up to like; that’s the plain and simple truth. I thought if I spoke face to face with Siobhan Daley as a fellow Londoner, someone who knew the score the way she did, I’d get more out of her. Yes, I also realised my visit might stir up a trickle of animosity among the locals, and yes, it’s true that I didn’t want any of that shit to rain down on my colleague. I’ve already had a bollocking from her, which was more than enough punishment for one day, believe me.’

  ‘I rather think that’s my decision,’ Warburton said. She took a deep breath, her expression grim. ‘Jimmy, we can’t keep going down this same road without changes being made.’

  ‘Do I not score any points for delegating? Howey was always banging on about my iffy delegation skills, and by conducting those interviews myself I left Chandler and Bishop to run the ship between them.’

  Warburton bounced clasped hands on the desk, her thumbs steepled. ‘Nice try, Inspector, but that isn’t going to cut it. This ought not to be a vicious cycle. Your entire team accepts your ways – for now. But if you constantly pour doubt on their ability to do the job properly, eventually their loyalty towards you may start to dissipate. Do you understand what I’m telling you?’

  Bliss edged forward on his chair, forcing himself not to fold his arms. ‘I do. If they stop trusting me, I lose my effectiveness. I get that. But at the time, when I’m making those decisions, I admit I don’t view things in the same light. It’s only afterwards, when I reflect or when I’m pulled up on it like I am now, that I realise my choices may be misinterpreted as doubting my colleagues’ ability. You have to know that genuinely is not the case.’

  ‘I do, Jimmy. But do they?’

  She had made her point; they both had. Although Warburton was his direct line manager, the fact remained that Edwards was his superior too, and as such he had to suck it up. He knew he was in the wrong, yet still he felt the urge to defend his actions. Knowing it would make no difference here and now, he held his tongue. Warburton shifted gears, keen to learn which new investigative lead he favoured. He’d just finished telling both women of his inclination towards Phil Walker being his chief suspect, when Bishop started rapping his knuckles on the door. Warburton beckoned him in and asked what was so urgent that it couldn’t wait until the meeting was over.

  ‘Sorry, boss. Ma’am. Ma’am,’ he said, looking between them. ‘But we just got word of another find and I thought you’d want to know as soon as. This time it’s the man we’ve been trying to get hold of – Phil Walker. Or part of him, at least.’

  The news struck like a solid kick to the gut, but Bliss recovered swiftly. ‘If it’s only just been discovered, how do we know it’s Walker?’

  ‘It’s not a hundred percent until DNA comes through, but the hand they found this time had a distinctive tattoo on the back. Penny ran a check on the records for both Walker and Swift, and under distinguishing marks, Walker has the exact same ink.’

  Bliss lowered his head for a moment, regrouping. The timing was spectacularly awful, but it would have come as a blow at any time. This did more than put a major dent in his theory; it tore it apart at the seams and scattered its contents to the four corners. He stood and looked down at Warburton. ‘Are we finished here, boss? I want to get into this right away.’

  His DCI gestured towards the open door. ‘Of course. Do what needs to be done. Keep me briefed, Inspector. I’ll keep DCI Edwards and DSI Fletcher up to speed.’

  ‘I cannot believe this,’ Bliss said to Bishop as they walked to the incident room. His jaw was set so firmly he barely got the words out. ‘I’ve just this second finished telling the boss Walker was our main suspect.’

  ‘I bet you’re feeling like a bit of a tit right now, then.’

  ‘Yes, thank you for pointing that out, Sergeant.’

  Bishop grinned and winked at him. ‘He was an obvious candidate, boss. The Price men may have had motive and a serious trigger to kick all this off, but they also have the best of alibis. Which, by the way, Gul confirmed a few minutes ago.’

  ‘Oh, bloody hell! So if it’s not them and it’s not Walker, where does that leave us? Who does it leave us with? Freddy Swift?’

  ‘Or somebody entirely unknown to us.’

  Bliss grimaced. He’d gone into the meeting believing the way forward had narrowed. Yet all it had taken was one alibi and one new find to put their investigation on its widest track yet – so wide, Bliss was unable to see either side. He was sure Swift was not their man, but they would have to interview him again, here at HQ this time, with a solicitor alongside him.

  The mood inside the room was solemn. Every member of the team knew what the fresh find meant to their case. Bliss clapped his hands together to gain their attention, walking to the front to stand beside the whiteboards. He wasn’t in the right frame of mind to deliver words of optimism, but he was still their leader.

  ‘Okay, listen up. Obviously, this comes as a serious blow. Walker looked good for it, but now he’s another victim. The Prices have a strong alibi. But we can’t allow this news to demolish our operation – there are still jobs to do. Bish, at the conclusion of this briefing I want you to go and bring Freddy Swift in for questioning. Arrest him if you have to. Get him here under false pretences if need be. Say we want to discuss his use of underage girls in his mucky movies. The kid me and Pen saw happened to be legal, but not all of them will have been. He’s the type.’

  ‘And other than Swift?’ Bishop asked.

  ‘I’m afraid we’re going to have to start all over again. I’ll have a chat with DSI Conway and DI Riseborough. We’ll see if between us we can come up with any other decent leads. Otherwise, we’ll have to trawl through those names we do have, make a list of all known acquaintances, and go through them one by one.’ Bliss held a hand up in the air to quell the sudden hubbub of disquiet among his team. ‘I know, I know. It’s going to be a tough old grind from this point on unless we get a lucky break. A thankless task. But it’s the job. Now, somebody talk to me about this latest find.’

  Chandler, who was also on her feet by one of the room’s two windows, outlined what they had so far. ‘The hand was found inside a white carrier bag at something called the Redoubt Fort in North Weald, which is the village where our victim, Phil Walker, lives. Lived. Whatever. Apparently, the fort is an old defence relic, now derelict.’

  ‘Another historical site,’ Bliss remarked. ‘Any engravings?’

  ‘No. Not this time.’

  ‘I wouldn’t have expected any. Whoever did this gave us all he needed to with the first three deposits. By now he knows we’re follo
wing up on the Geraldine Price murder, so there’s no need for further markings. And mentioning Price brings me back to Freddy Swift. Both Pen and I got the distinct impression he already knew about the slices removed from Geraldine’s body before she was dumped. If our suspicions don’t exactly make him our offender, he’s most definitely in the frame for something… Pen, if you’ve not already done so, get hold of the porn star Swift said he’d met with on Monday morning. And her agent. Confirm his story, but make sure they both understand we’ll be wanting written statements. That may spook one of them if they’re covering for him.’

  Everybody swung into gear. Two uniforms new to the team that morning were given actions to run down, their contributions to the investigation far greater than standing guard outside an address or lifting tape for detectives. Bliss appreciated their presence on his operations. They were superb at chasing down leads and running ad hoc interviews, and were always on hand whenever Bliss and his team carried out arrests. He and his fellow suits were so often bathed in the narrow glare of attention, but he valued the unsung heroes. He also looked to them for potential future recruits.

  With Phil Walker now a victim rather than a suspect, Bliss regarded the latest find as a step backwards. He’d drive down to visit the scene, but his own responsibilities in this case were now clear. The answers, he believed, lay buried in the 1994 murder investigation. Which was where he would start digging, as soon as he was finished in North Weald.

  Thirty

  A uniformed sergeant guided them along a narrow dirt track before striking out across a field of unkempt grass that lapped against their thighs as they pushed through it. Bliss was glad he had dressed casually, though he could have done with sturdier footwear than trainers. On the far side of the open land, they followed the officer through a gap in a section of half-hearted fencing where the original steel panels had been replaced with chain-link, which had in turn been clipped and pulled back to create a wide enough opening for people to enter grounds belonging to the Ministry of Defence. Their route within the compound took them through thick woodland that felt preternaturally cold and gloomy in the fading sunlight, an eerie silence seeming to press down on them from within the canopy of branches above.

  Emerging from the woods into dense undergrowth, they came across a dome-like shape, its metallic skin stained green by time and exposure. ‘What the bloody hell is that thing?’ Chandler asked as they tramped through fallen branches and leaves that turned to dust beneath their feet. ‘It looks like a Dalek buried up to its neck.’

  ‘A pill box,’ the sergeant replied over his shoulder. His name was Wallace, his demeanour courteous rather than friendly. ‘Machine guns would have been mounted inside. If you look beyond, you can see the entrance passage – it’s remained open ever since the fort was built.’

  Bliss had known what it was the moment he laid eyes on it, but was astonished by its size. The top hatch was still in place but ajar, the side panel missing altogether. He tried and failed to imagine how unbearably cramped and noisy it must have been for whoever had to man the guns. Given the location, he doubted they had ever been used for anything other than practice sessions.

  ‘Daleks don’t have necks,’ Bliss whispered from one side of his mouth, shaking his head at Chandler.

  ‘Yes, they do,’ Chandler hissed. ‘It’s that three-ring grille thing.’

  ‘Are you sure? I thought that was part of the head.’

  ‘It’s a neck, now shut up about it.’

  Bliss shook his head again. ‘Bloody nerd.’

  ‘This place had to be guarded at all times,’ Wallace went on. ‘It was the first mobilisation centre built as part of the London defence system. Many tons of weapons and ammunition were stored here for the batteries and infantry.’

  ‘It must have been enormous,’ Bliss said.

  ‘It still is. It’s dilapidated now, of course, but most of the structure is still solid enough. It has to be all of five hundred feet across, and it’s built in a rather odd semicircular shape. Plenty of people in this area will tell you the fort is haunted, but I can’t say I’ve ever seen or heard anything.’

  ‘You’re local, then,’ Chandler said conversationally.

  ‘Oh, yes. Born and bred. I know these parts like the back of my hand.’

  ‘I’m glad we had a guide.’

  Bliss nodded; Chandler was echoing his own thoughts. The woods were not deep, but the fort they were heading towards was built below ground, so would not have been easy to find alone.

  They emerged into a clearing and he saw the first concrete ridge appear in the earth in front of them. A question had been niggling away at Bliss since the location had first been divulged, but as soon as they reached the lip, exposing a wide corridor of land between the crest and the construction itself, he had his answer.

  ‘I get it now,’ he muttered.

  Chandler caught it. ‘Get what?’

  ‘The other finds were all in areas where the carrier bags would be readily discovered. This place is old MoD property, tucked away behind fencing, in the middle of the woods… I didn’t understand that aspect at all.’

  She looked at the low building beneath them, then back to Bliss. ‘And now you do?’

  ‘Yep. Look at all the graffiti. Some of the tagging is still shiny. I bet kids come here every day.’

  Wallace eyed him with renewed interest as he shortened his stride. ‘You’re spot on, Inspector,’ he said. ‘We send in a presence a couple of times a week, but rarely catch the little buggers at it. During the winter and spring we don’t have to worry about it, because these tunnels get flooded out. Not enough to ward off your hardened ghost-hunters, but no self-respecting tagger is going to wade through this place just to spray a can of paint.’

  They located a set of concrete steps which they began to descend, Wallace leading them along the wide-open ditch past two entrances. Ahead and above the far wall, Bliss spotted a couple of brick-built houses whose innards had been completely gutted, along with the roofs and windows. He guessed they had been administration offices, perhaps living quarters. A chill ran between his shoulder blades as he thought of all the people now long gone who had once filled this fort with discordant noise and bustle. At the third entrance – a short tunnel leading into the heart of the main storage area itself – Wallace came to a complete halt. He gestured towards the inside. ‘Over there is where the bag was found.’

  Bliss immediately became aware of the absence of movement. There were no other police officers, no local detectives, nor any sign of a forensics team. ‘Where the bloody hell is everybody?’ he asked.

  Wallace raised his eyebrows. ‘You just said it yourself, Inspector. This is MoD property. We have an agreement to patrol and enter the grounds in order to keep the place as clear as possible, but we have no remit to carry out an investigation here without their authorisation. They haven’t given us the nod to do so yet. By rights, I shouldn’t even be showing you two around.’

  Bliss scratched the back of his neck. His MI5 contact would be able to open up that particular door if necessary – but judging by the condition of the place, he did not foresee even the best of CSI managers obtaining any worthwhile forensics here. The mass of evidence would surely confuse matters further still. Then something else occurred to him.

  ‘Hold on. If that’s the case, who has the bag? Who has the hand?’

  The sergeant turned to him, smiling for the first time. ‘Oh, I made sure my officers removed it, Inspector. I wouldn’t have trusted the MoD not to turn up and pilfer it for themselves. It’s currently being biked up to your forensics lab in Huntingdon. You must have passed it on your drive down.’

  Bliss thanked him; it was a good move on the man’s part. He’d met plenty of coppers, including fellow detectives, who would have balked at messing with the MoD, so removing the find had been smart and courageous thinking on Wallace’s part.

/>   Meanwhile, Chandler was rubbing her arms through her lightweight jacket. ‘No wonder people say the place is haunted,’ she said. ‘It’s downright creepy.’

  Bliss nodded. ‘Yeah, all those buried Daleks are enough to give anyone the willies.’

  Chandler screwed her face up and saluted him with the usual two digits. Wallace ignored them both. ‘Locals tell me their kids have reported hearing footsteps, orders being shouted out. Nothing official, mind – just pub chatter. I tell them their kids shouldn’t be close enough to the fort to be able to hear anything, which usually shuts them up. I’ve been here more times than I care to remember and never heard a thing out of place. As for the imagination, we’re dealing with another thing entirely, I reckon.’

  Bliss’s attention was on the tagging at the entrance to the tunnel. None of it looked as if it was still drying out. He turned to Wallace once again. ‘I assume it was one of your local graffiti artists who reported it?’

  ‘Bound to be. Anonymous call from a phone box outside the railway station, down the road from here.’

  It made sense. A kid – or more likely a gang of them – came to demonstrate their artistic flair and instead discovered a severed hand. Enough to send them scarpering before they even managed to uncap their spray cans. But at least one of them must have had a conscience.

  There was one thing still bothering him. The relevance of the location had been explained: historical, and with every chance of the bag being found within a day. But this was no easy place to find. It was certainly not a tourist trap, nor widely known about, as far as he was aware. He’d lived in London for decades, and had never heard of it, though it was at most a twenty-five-mile drive from Mile End. So how had their man known about this vestige of war in the small village where Phil Walker lived?

  He shuddered; whether it was the thought of the man they were hunting, the horrors he was inflicting on other men, or the chilling effect of this cold and miserable place, Bliss was not sure. He knew only one thing with absolute certainty: he wanted to leave, and he hoped never to return.