Thirty-One
They barely spoke during the drive into London the following morning. Chandler hadn’t slept well and kept dozing off, muttering to herself every so often. Bliss, who felt he functioned better on small amounts of sleep than on a solid eight hours, watched the countryside flash by in a blur and concentrated on the case.
Following their visit to North Weald the previous evening, Bliss had spoken to Bishop, requesting a warrant to enter and search Walker’s flat and any of his vehicles and garages. He’d turned to Chandler afterwards, suggesting they spend the night at a local hotel and save themselves a couple of lengthy drives. Bliss convinced her Warburton would stump up part of the budget in order to keep her detectives fresh. Chandler had given in without a fight.
He and his faithful companion ate dinner at a chain pub, discussing their experience of the old fort and the unease it had elicited, as well as making plans for the next day. In the boot of his car they each had an overnight bag containing clothes and basic toiletries; something Bliss had always insisted they carry. After dinner they had one final drink at the bar before Bliss called it a day. He had brought his work laptop with him, and he wanted to dig into the case files again. In addition, he hadn’t caught up with either Conway or Riseborough all day, and he owed them both an update.
Those conversations had not gone as well as he had hoped. Conway was annoyed at being left out in the cold for virtually an entire day, and when Bliss related the news about the fresh discovery, his frustration became vocal and loud. Quietly soothing the DSI’s bruised ego, Bliss said he would call for a face-to-face meeting as soon as he returned to Thorpe Wood. Given his unique connection to the case, Conway had no choice but to accept Bliss’s apology and strategy, but he made his feelings quite clear.
They agreed that Gablecross should focus their efforts more precisely on Earl Dobson; Conway claimed the individual task of tracking down local journalists who worked the original case, to see how many of them knew more than they should, and whether those details had somehow leaked out at the time. Bliss realised he was putting a lot of emphasis on what he and Chandler believed Freddy Swift did or did not know, and was keen to rule out common knowledge as a factor.
Max Riseborough was a different matter altogether. Bliss changed one crucial fact when discussing the recent find with him; he said the victim had yet to be identified, but that he was expecting an update within the next twenty-four hours. Riseborough took in the new intel, but immediately complained about his team being grossly underused since their CCTV trail had gone cold. Other than drilling down into Tommy Harrison’s background, they had been allocated little in the way of caseload. Bliss accepted the rebuke and gave his apologies; he would have felt the same in Riseborough’s shoes, but the man was making a big deal out of nothing. He attempted to pacify the DI by explaining how difficult it was to include a team unknown to him and based so far away – but, thinking quickly, offered up Freddy Swift as an olive branch.
‘I was going to have his sorry arse dragged into Thorpe Wood to interview,’ he explained. ‘But DS Bishop was unsuccessful in tracking him down. Swift also failed to show up at work today, which suggests we spooked him. He’s all yours if you want him, Max.’
Riseborough did. ‘Anything specific you’d like me to push him on once we have him?’
Bliss admired the DI’s confidence. Thinking in terms of ‘when’ rather than ‘if’ was the sign of a fine leader. It gave him pause. ‘Yes, there is. For my money, he knew more than he should have when we spoke to him – especially about the Geraldine Price case. I mentioned the slicing of flesh and he reacted as if he was familiar with it, though it was never revealed at the time by the media. To be honest with you, Max, I still don’t see him as our doer, and neither did Penny when we met him, but he’s either involved with the cold case or he knows somebody who was.’
In truth, he was keen to keep both Riseborough and Conway working the edges; the meat and drink would go to his own team until he was told otherwise. He had nothing against either man or their units, but Conway had a reputation to maintain, and Bliss did not want to be misled either by an act of self-preservation or a simple lapse of memory on his part. More to the point, he did not wish to confuse the two. As for Riseborough, he seemed decent, both as a man and a copper, but he had also worked closely with Conway in the past. Bliss wanted to take any misplaced loyalty off the board.
Before turning in, Bliss had sent a text message, and the request he made applied a layer of guilt all over his skin. Providing different information to both Conway and Riseborough was an act both men would undoubtedly frown upon, but Bliss knew they would eventually understand why he’d done it; this latest move, however necessary he believed it to be, would create a lasting storm of controversy. As he started drifting off, his phone stirred, and when he checked the message, Bliss knew he was in for a sleepless night.
He recalled those conversations and message exchanges as he took the slip road onto the Woodford New Road towards Whipps Cross. He’d spent the night tossing and turning, but by dawn he had made peace with his decision. Now he had to forget about it and move on. He hung a left at a junction that had once been a sizeable roundabout. Chandler stirred from her slumber as he drove past the hospital, which was opposite a leisure spot known as Hollow Pond. Bliss had fond memories of boating out on its lake and splashing around at the lido – now long gone, covered over so well it might never have existed – with his friends. The Leyton Flats was a green area of suburbia in which families congregated during sweltering summer months. When the ponds and the outdoor swimming pool were too overcrowded, wide open spaces lay nearby on which you could kick a ball around or play a game of cricket.
It was another bright day, warm but overcast, but the small car park was virtually empty as they passed. As Chandler blinked the fog of sleep away and stretched out her arms, Bliss felt nostalgia wash over him. Rather than drip from his body, it clung, seeping into his pores. His childhood had been one of simple pleasures, days filled with laughter and action and a few minor transgressions along the way. He wondered where the local kids were now – sitting at home playing video games, or out earning their colours by stabbing some unsuspecting innocent. It was a radically different world from the one he had grown up in; if this was progress, Bliss did not want any part of it.
‘What the hell did you just experience?’ Chandler asked.
Bliss glanced across to his left. Her stare was a curious mix of intrigue and concern. ‘What d’you mean?’
‘You had this distant smile on your face. As if you were reliving a wonderful experience inside your head… but all at once your smile turned upside down and something dark passed across your face.’
He didn’t think he could explain. Not in any meaningful way. He guessed she had experienced her own childhood pleasures, but the tumble from joyful reminiscence to deep melancholy was harder to appreciate. It was not a place he wanted to take his friend.
‘Sorry,’ he said. ‘I don’t know where I was. Drifted off, I suppose.’
‘That’s not at all comforting considering you’re the one behind the wheel, old man.’ Chandler added a smile, but Bliss saw his lapse had disturbed her.
All of the properties were on the right-hand side of the road. Bliss eyed the car’s navigation system; the moving image told him the house they wanted was less than fifty yards away. One of many similar three- and four-storey houses along Whipps Cross Road, the home belonging to ex-DCI Drayton had been significantly modernised. From what Bliss could see of the other houses on the same stretch, Drayton’s was the only one not to have been converted into either flats or a B&B.
Bliss had arranged via text for DC Ansari to call ahead and make arrangements, preparing Drayton for their visit. He’d suggested Bliss park on the driveway, but then head across to the large field opposite the house, where Drayton would be watching a five-a-side football tournament. Ansari had given
the former detective chief inspector a vague idea of the subject matter, and within a few minutes of shaking hands Bliss and Chandler found themselves standing with him by the side of an unmarked pitch with collapsible goalposts at either end.
‘My grandson is playing,’ Drayton explained. He pointed towards a tall, skinny kid wearing a bright yellow training bib. ‘The one with his socks rolled down, despite my protestations.’
The two detectives watched the game with him for a few minutes. The team wearing blue bibs were the dominant force, but Drayton’s grandson was playing a blinder.
‘He’s pretty good,’ Bliss acknowledged, shortly after the boy had robbed an opponent of the ball and sent a slide rule pass down the left-hand channel between two players.
‘You like the game?’ Drayton said over his shoulder.
‘Oh, yeah. Chelsea supporter since I was a nipper.’
The man pulled a face as if he’d bitten into something rotten. ‘Owned by a Russian oligarch. Do you ever consider how he made his fortune when they splash out their millions?’
Bliss hiked his shoulders. ‘For all I know, he earns his money legitimately. Do you know otherwise?’
This time Drayton turned fully. He smiled and said, ‘Is it possible to earn so many billions legitimately in Russia?’
‘Oil is oil.’
‘And Putin is Putin. Nice to have friends like that.’
‘I wouldn’t know. I don’t move in those kinds of circles.’
‘Right. And you didn’t drive all the way here to listen to me rant about money ruining the game I love. Besides, your partner’s looking bored. Football not your game, DS Chandler?’
‘Not so’s you’d notice. I’m not into sports in general.’
Bliss and Drayton exchanged bewildered looks, reaching a shared understanding: people who didn’t like sport were somehow lacking. The moment seemed to thaw a little of the ice Bliss felt had been building up.
The blue team scored and immediately the referee blew for half-time. Drayton gave his grandson a clap and a few words of encouragement. When he returned, he led Bliss and Chandler out of earshot of the players and coaches. ‘Fire away,’ he said. ‘Though I warn you now, I don’t see how I’m going to be of any help.’
Drayton was a man of average height, and the sag of his skin told Bliss he had lost weight recently. Liver spots covered his mostly bald head like a spray of freckles, his bare arms and hands not escaping the markings time left behind. He had not aged well. Bliss thanked him and took up the offer. ‘You were a DS working under Pete Conway back in 1994, is that right, Morris?’ The ex-detective had asked them to use his first name.
‘I was. He’d not long been made up to inspector. I was asked to partner up with him to add some experience.’
‘Did you think he was too inexperienced to run the Geraldine Price investigation?’
Drayton moistened his lips and shifted on his feet, clearing his throat before he responded. ‘When it came to major and serious crimes, you cut your teeth early in those days. I’m sure you’d agree, Inspector Bliss. I bet your first cases were no cakewalks.’
Bliss remembered them well. Especially the first. He nodded. ‘I was as green as they come. Did my time in uniform, of course, but working CID was a different matter. Landed my first big one after a few weeks. We were after a couple of brothers for several armed robberies. They were originally into wage snatches, but when that game dried up they turned to safes and armoured vans. I was thrown in at the deep end, undercover with a bunch of blaggers. I got roped in as their new safe man, which was fine because we were working hand-in-hand with the warehouse they were going to hit, so we had all the inside information we needed. It was one of those ops where nothing could go wrong… until it did. That first break might easily have been my last. So, yes, I understand why Pete was given such a high-profile case.’
‘He was nervous about it,’ Drayton said. ‘But he remained composed at all times, and had some bloody good ideas when things didn’t quite go our way. It wasn’t his fault we never got a result; nobody would have in that place. The scum of the earth came together as a community, all right – not to find out who murdered one of their own, though, oh no. They formed a wall of silence and left us grasping at straws.’
‘You still sound bitter about it,’ Chandler observed.
He looked up. ‘You’re damned right I am. They all knew Price was a normal woman trying to make her way in life. They knew she’d been dumped and left for dead, and word soon got around about her being sexually abused. But instead of reaching out to us for answers, they pulled their doors together and slammed them tight. Nobody wanted to know, and any who did kept it to themselves.’
Bliss picked up on something. ‘You say word got around. That’s one of the things we’re keen to find out about. How much leaked, Morris? That you’re aware of?’
‘You mean the stuff we opted to keep from the media? Nothing, so far as I know.’
‘No information passed on to reporters for a decent backhander?’
Drayton shrugged. ‘I can’t be certain. I mean, anything’s possible. All I can say is that to my knowledge it never appeared in the papers or on the news. I never heard a whisper about it. Usually, you’d get a journo call you up and ask you to confirm something they’d heard via a reputable source – you know the kind of thing – but not this time. You have to remember, this was as ugly as they come, and Mrs Price wasn’t one of your usual toerags. To those of us on the case, she seemed like a lovely, beautiful woman doing her best for her family and trying to live her life. It was one of those cases that got its hooks into you.’
Bliss understood. You got used to seeing a lot of villain-on-villain crime, and although you did your job, you didn’t break your back trying to solve it. And if there was money to be made, you dropped a hint or three to journalists looking for the inside word. Then along came a more meaningful investigation, everybody stepped up their game, and lips remained firmly pressed together. The notion of operational silence and integrity was unspoken, but every uniform and suit involved became aware of the stakes.
‘I’ve had several chats with Pete,’ Bliss said. ‘He’d like to be working it again, but he also understands he’s too close. If what happened to Geraldine Price lit the fuse for what we’re facing now, he’s man enough to stand aside and allow us to get on with whatever we have to do. If that means asking awkward questions, so be it. He wants honest answers in the same way we do.’
‘I understand you, Inspector. And in the spirit of full disclosure, I admit I called Pete first thing this morning. I didn’t feel entirely happy having this conversation about him without first speaking with the man himself. Please don’t misconstrue that as my attempting to obtain any kind of party line from him.’
‘Of course not. How did he respond?’
‘Much as you’d expect. He cut me short, refused to discuss the case with me, and insisted I should be forthcoming with you.’
‘Good for him,’ Chandler said. ‘So why am I detecting reticence on your part?’
Bliss flashed her a look. He’d felt it, too, but was surprised she had gone for the jugular so soon. He hoped it wouldn’t backfire on them.
Morris Drayton was smiling, but Bliss thought his face looked sad, perhaps something like his own countenance earlier as he’d driven past Hollow Ponds. The ex-DCI took a deep breath before speaking. ‘You have to understand something. Pete and I were a fairly new team at the time. We became great friends as well as colleagues, but our partnership was in its infancy back then. I’ve already told you I liked his reaction when we hit a brick wall, but he also made errors of judgement. As did I.’
‘And they were?’ Bliss asked. ‘His first, then yours, please.’
‘I felt Pete should have fought harder against the idea of involving the Doyle brothers. Our Superintendent at the time – a man few of the team real
ly trusted – suggested the idea. There were rumours of him taking payoffs for tips on raids, providing information. I told Pete the Doyle family were bad news and far too likely to be involved in some way for us to go begging. In my opinion, it gave the wrong impression. It felt as if we were telling them they ruled the streets, that they were in charge and not us.’
‘He disagreed?’
‘No. That’s just it. He felt the same way. But he was eager to please, didn’t know the Super the way we did, and so he caved. The fact that Mrs Price’s body turned up a few days later – that it was more than likely dumped the same day we spoke to the Doyles – told me our suspicions about them were right.’
‘And your errors?’ Bliss asked. So far he had heard little more than he’d already guessed, and he put no blame on Conway for buckling beneath the weight of pressure from his superiors.
‘I took it a stage further. In truth, I may have been pissed off at the decision and throwing my toys out of the pram. Whatever the reason, I took the same story and offered the same deal outside of the Doyle family. I’d not been instructed to do so, but neither had it been expressly forbidden. I took it as implied permission. At least, that’s what I told myself.’
‘So you approached other gangs in Hoxton and Islington. Asked them for their help in return for a blind eye turned at some point in the future?’
‘Clerkenwell, too. But yes. And I didn’t mention it to my guv’nor. Not until afterwards, at any rate.’
Bliss’s head was buzzing. The area would have been on high alert, the local faces desperate to get the police off their streets and estates. One name in particular scratched at the back of his mind.
‘Tell me something, Morris,’ he said slowly, betraying no sign of the mounting excitement building inside him. ‘Was one of those gangs you approached run by the Walker family?’
The man’s eyes narrowed. ‘Yes, it was.’
Slow Slicing (DI Bliss Book 7) Page 24
