The Autumn Tree (DI Bliss Book 8)

by Tony J. Forder

  Copyright © 2021 Tony Forder

  The right of Tony Forder to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2021 by Spare Nib Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  tonyjforder.com

  tony@tonyjforder.com

  Also by Tony J Forder

  The DI Bliss Series

  Bad to the Bone

  The Scent of Guilt

  If Fear Wins

  The Reach of Shadows

  The Death of Justice

  Endless Silent Scream

  Slow Slicing

  Bliss Uncovered

  Standalones

  Fifteen Coffins

  Degrees of Darkness

  The Mike Lynch Series

  Scream Blue Murder

  Cold Winter Sun

  For my family.

  To those whose presence continues to bring joy into my life.

  And to those no longer with us.

  Because family is everything.

  One

  I’m going to die!

  As he crouched over the lifeless body so cruelly exposed by the naked glare of a single LED floodlight, Jimmy Bliss saw the young woman’s final thoughts reflected in her sightless eyes.

  I’m going to die. And there’s nothing I can do to stop it happening.

  He knew then that she had stared into the cold, dark heart of her assailant. That in a moment of awful clarity, she had realised what was about to happen to her. If the jagged fingernails and bracelets of discoloured flesh around both wrists were anything to go by, this slender woman who looked to be barely more than a child had fought hard to fend off her attacker.

  To no avail.

  At the end, she had most likely accepted the horrific inevitability of her fate. Where passion and anger had once burned, now sorrow and fear formed a misty glaze over both corneas. Bliss felt sick to his stomach knowing that the last person those eyes had rested upon intended to end her life.

  His preliminary analysis over with, he stood upright and arched his back until he felt it pop. He took out a mobile phone from the inside breast pocket of his black leather jacket. Snapping photographs at a murder scene had become a source of controversy between the police and the public, but Bliss did it anyway. An establishing shot from each end of the tent. Then from both sides. Followed by two close-ups of the victim’s face.

  When he was done, he tucked the phone away again before stepping back outside the white tent fringed with a narrow hem of blue. A thin layer of frost lay on the ground, compacting in the rapidly decreasing temperature. Tendrils of mist coiled and danced in the frigid air, masking the illumination provided by dozens of additional floodlights surrounding the tent and the sealed-off crime scene. A single tree, growing well away from its closest neighbours, loomed over the forensic tent as if desperate to possess its contents.

  Bliss made a beeline for the crime scene manager, Magda Nowicki, who was waiting close by for him to finish his own inspection. ‘Thanks for allowing me a quick shufty without having to get suited up,’ he said. ‘It seemed like a waste of time for no more than a few minutes.’

  ‘No problem,’ Nowicki said. ‘We got everything we needed beforehand, so there’s no issue with cross-contamination. You’re done with her?’

  ‘I am.’

  ‘Good. The body snatchers are here and I still have to bag and tag her.’

  Bliss thanked her again, then went to find Detective Inspector Kennedy, the somewhat brusque detective he’d spoken with upon arrival.

  He was still walking towards him when the man said, ‘You recognise our victim?’

  Bliss frowned. Little more than an hour earlier, he’d received a phone call from Kennedy, who worked out of Cambridge police station, close to the centre of the university city. He’d requested Bliss’s assistance on a new murder investigation, but had insisted on providing a full explanation of the circumstances only when Bliss arrived at the crime scene. It had taken him a little over forty minutes to drive from his home in Peterborough to the Hinton chalk pits on the south-east outskirts of Cambridge. There he was met by the DI and a younger man who hovered close by but made no effort to introduce himself.

  Bliss had no need of a second look in order to answer the question, but his senses had been on high alert since arriving at the pits. He was wary of the two men who looked to have taken charge. They made for an uneven pair; Mr Cagey stood tall and solid, while Kennedy was short and doughy. The older man, overweight and losing the battle to keep his hair, the younger trying a little too hard when it came to his appearance. The only thing they seemed to have in common was their fixation on Bliss, having watched him like a couple of hawks from the moment he’d stepped out of his car.

  He shook his head. ‘I don’t know her. I may have seen her somewhere before. Perhaps we’ve even met. But she’s not familiar to me.’

  ‘Are you sure about that?’ the reticent one asked.

  Ignoring him, Bliss instead turned to DI Kennedy. ‘What made you think I would recognise this girl? Why didn’t you just text me her photo? Or did you drag me all the way over here just to see my reaction when I laid eyes on her for the first time?’

  ‘You always this edgy, Bliss?’ the younger man said before Kennedy had a chance to respond. He carried his weight well on a large frame, but Bliss guessed he had little more going for him than his physique. The look on his face suggested he had assumed command of the discussion, and that did not sit well.

  Bliss barely looked at the man when he spoke next. ‘Until you do me the courtesy of giving me your rank or position, that’s DS Bliss to you.’

  Mr Cagey shrugged as if it were of no consequence. ‘I’ll try to remember that. Consider it a lesson learned. Meanwhile, why don’t you tell us why you are being so unhelpful?’

  ‘Are you refusing to give me your name and rank?’

  ‘I don’t have to. This is an informal chat. For the time being.’

  Bliss heaved a sigh and this time turned to face the man. His expelled breath fogged the gap between them for a couple of seconds. ‘Thank you, chaps,’ he said, looking between the two men. ‘This has been fun. Let me repay you both by dragging you out of your homes in the dead of night for no good reason sometime soon.’

  ‘I wouldn’t leave if I were you, Sergeant.’ This time it was Kennedy who spoke up. His tone was firm but not unfriendly. ‘It won’t take much for us to make things more formal. I don’t think you want that.’

  ‘Not with your form, certainly,’ his companion added.

  Bliss’s head jerked up. ‘Form? What do you mean by that?’

  The man’s snort was derisive. ‘You really have to ask? The fact that you’re currently outranked by DI Kennedy here doesn’t give you a clue?’

  Bliss had no argument. The price for his behaviour during a prior case, and his attitude towards a senior officer in the immediate aftermath, was being subjected to the indignity of a probationary period during which time he’d also been demoted back down to Detective Sergeant. It was one he’d been willing to pay at the time, but he couldn’t yet work out why he was being given a hard time here and now. He chose to push back.

  ‘Yes, I have to ask,’ he said in a flat, even tone. �
�Why don’t you tell me more?’

  ‘This is not your first time being…’ the man let his words trail off, cheeks pinking.

  ‘Go on, finish that sentence,’ Bliss told him. ‘This is not my first time being interrogated? Was that what you were going to say? You slipped up there, didn’t you, Lurch? But at least we’re getting somewhere.’ He paused, slowly switching his gaze back to Kennedy. ‘This is not some informal chat at all, is it? And you didn’t ask me over here to offer advice on that poor girl’s murder. I’m being interviewed, but without caution or representation.’

  ‘Hold on a second,’ Kennedy spluttered. ‘That’s not what this is at all.’

  Bliss stared hard at him. ‘Bollocks it isn’t. Let’s start again, shall we? And this time, I’ll take charge. I’ll give your friend here one final opportunity to tell me his name and give me his rank. Then you can tell me why I am here, or I will leave. Don’t test me on that, Inspector, because I’m not in the mood for more of your stupid bloody games.’

  The DI gave his companion a sidelong glance. Shrugged and nodded. The younger man inclined his head and said, ‘I’m an investigator with the NCA.’

  Bliss had already guessed as much. ‘What kind of alphabetti spaghetti are we talking about?’

  ‘I’m with ERSOU,’ he said, pronouncing the acronym as a single word. ‘Specifically, MSHTU.’

  Bliss knew the Modern Slavery and Human Trafficking Unit well. Attached to the Eastern Region Special Operations Unit of the National Crime Agency based in Bedford, Bliss had spent some time posted there himself, working organised crime. Not all investigators had previous police service experience, and Bliss assumed this man had not long stepped up from being a trainee.

  ‘And your name?’ Bliss asked.

  ‘Glen Ashton.’

  Whatever the situation, Bliss understood the NCA were involved by invitation – meaning DI Kennedy was ultimately in charge. He turned to his fellow detective once more. ‘I think we’ve had enough pratting around, don’t you? Let’s get down to why you wanted me here tonight.’

  Kennedy took a beat before speaking, while Ashton shuffled from foot to foot like an impatient toddler. All three men were wrapped up well against the bitter night air: thick jackets fastened to the neck, scarves protruding to protect their throats. The DI shivered once before speaking.

  ‘Our naked young woman was probably strangled within the past twenty-four hours. So far we’ve been unable to identify her. We found no bag, no purse, no phone, no jewellery; nothing except her clothes in a pile beside the body. She has a couple of tattoos on her back, but they’re generic and of generally poor quality. However, I did find a couple of business cards tucked away inside the lining of her bra. One of those cards was yours, Sergeant.’

  Bliss felt his eyebrows arch reflexively as he nodded. ‘Okay. Well, although most of the time I forget, I do occasionally hand them out. If you thought I might be able to help ID her, that would be one thing – but that’s not why you brought me here. We could have done it at the mortuary. You were keen to see my reaction in the place where she was found, and you didn’t believe me when I told you I had no idea who she was. I have to assume there’s a good reason why.’

  ‘There is,’ Ashton said, taking over without waiting for permission from Kennedy. ‘On the reverse side of the card was something hand-written. A single phrase: Get out of jail free! I’m betting that means something to you, because I think you wrote it.’

  Bliss felt a jolt as if he’d been kicked in the ribs. He had only ever written that line five times. Five separate cards, all doled out on the same occasion. He put his head down for a moment, catching his breath. ‘It does. And I did. But tell me, what did you take it to mean? Clearly you suspect me of something, or I wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t be all attitude.’

  Ashton nodded, looking Bliss up and down. ‘This card tells me you are on the take, DS Bliss. I think you hand them out to young girls in return for something or other, telling them you’ll work some magic to make sure they walk should they ever get in trouble with the police. We both know you have a fondness for brasses.’

  Bliss kept his eyes cast to the floor. ‘Investigator Ashton, that’s going to be the one and only time you get to accuse me of being on the take. Or talk to me in that way. You do it again and I’ll knock you spark out.’

  The NCA man bristled and tensed. ‘I wouldn’t make idle threats if I were you.’

  ‘There’s nothing idle about it. I’ll turn the other cheek when it comes to most accusations, but not that. Never that. Do you understand me?’

  Ashton said nothing.

  Bliss looked up, his anger bubbling under. ‘Don’t go thinking you can intimidate me with silence. You’re not Jack fucking Reacher. You’re a wet-behind-the-ears NCA investigator who’s trying to climb a ladder before he can even walk.’ He turned to glare at DI Kennedy. ‘I have to hope you’re better than this, Inspector. For that poor girl’s sake. This was all Ashton’s idea, right?’

  Kennedy shrugged and gave a sheepish nod. ‘I would have gone a different way. The connection was too flimsy for my liking.’

  ‘And too bloody obvious. What kind of shit cop criminal would I be if I handed out business cards bearing that message to people I wanted sexual favours from?’

  ‘The thought did cross my mind.’

  ‘But we can’t say the same for Rain Man here.’ Bliss hooked a thumb at Ashton. ‘And now I think about it some more, why exactly is he here?’

  ‘Taking into account her flesh tone and bone structure, our victim looks to be of Middle Eastern heritage. Judging by the clothes she wore and the tramp stamp, there’s the distinct possibility of her having been a sex worker. You know as well as I do that combo sends up a trafficking flare these days.’

  Bliss rubbed a hand across his face. He glanced over at the tent covering the young woman’s tiny, doll-like body. The PVC structure looked lost and somehow fragile, as if cast adrift upon a landscape as bleak as anything he had ever seen. It was no place to be remembered by.

  ‘Which brings us back to my business card, and why she had it on her,’ he said. ‘All right, I’ll tell you about it. Them, to be precise.’

  Ashton choked down on a laugh. ‘Oh, so there’s more than one? Why am I not surprised?’

  ‘Bloody well listen, will you?’ Bliss snarled at him. ‘You might even learn a thing or two. A few years back, my team rescued five trafficked young women from a transport container at RAF Wittering. They were close to death by the time we found them, but those we did find all survived after they’d received medical treatment. I wrote that message on the cards I gave each of them. And yes, I wanted them to know that if they got caught up in anything unsavoury, they could call me. I made a joke of it by writing that phrase, to lighten the mood. But there was nothing offered in return, and you suggesting otherwise turns my stomach.’

  ‘So why tell us you didn’t know our victim?’ Ashton asked.

  Bliss sighed, his breath escaping in a dense cloud of vapour. He closed his eyes, still seeing the naked form beneath the tent. ‘Because I don’t. I gave out five cards to five young women. Girls, really. But your victim wasn’t one of them.’

  ‘You said this thing at the RAF base was a few years ago. How can you possibly be sure this isn’t one of those girls?’

  ‘Because they were minutes away from death when we found them. Having spent days in conditions you can’t possibly begin to imagine and would almost certainly not have survived.’

  Ashton hiked his broad shoulders. ‘I still don’t understand.’

  ‘What a shocker. Maybe you’re able to experience something like that and forget all about it afterwards. Me? I remember their faces. I’ll never forget them. I also kept myself informed as to what became of those young women. That poor creature under your forensic tent is definitely not one of the five young women we rescued that night.’

  ‘Then why did she have your card on her?’

  Bliss took a
breath. ‘That’s precisely what I intend to find out.’

  Two

  It was 7.00am, and Bliss found himself sitting on a bench in a long corridor sipping weak vending-machine coffee alongside a bleary-eyed and disgruntled DCI Warburton. Cambridge police station, an anonymous four-storey building adjacent to the fire station and opposite Parker’s Piece park and garden, was not unlike every other older city centre nick. Filing cabinets lining up like suspects around the perimeter of open-plan work areas, each of which was separated into individual bases; overlapping posters depicting actual suspects adorning the walls as if they were abstract works of art; interview rooms created from little more than blank square boxes, designed to be dour and uninspiring; bland, squeaky hallways with discontent brewing behind every door; canteens serving tasteless microwaved food and vending machines spewing out hot drinks you wouldn’t wish to inflict on the drains.

  ‘Here we are yet again,’ Warburton said, looking as if she was trying hard not to scowl at him. ‘What is it about you and the past?’

  ‘It’s not by design,’ Bliss protested. ‘They came to me, remember?’

  ‘Indeed they did. And do you recall why, Jimmy? Because it’s their case. Yet here I am, having been woken at stupid o’clock, because you want to take it from them.’

  ‘The victim had my card in her possession. That means she belongs to us.’

  Warburton swallowed some of her own insipid drink. ‘And yet, as you’ve already admitted to DI Kennedy, she isn’t one of the five girls from your previous investigation. The card on its own proves nothing.’

  Bliss sniffed. ‘I’d argue it proves just enough.’

  ‘You’d argue black was white if it meant getting your own way.’

  ‘That’s as maybe, but whoever the victim is, she was clearly close to one of ours. Her having my card is all the evidence I need of that.’

  ‘Even if that were true, and even if we could prove it, I’m still struggling to find an angle here for the discussion I’m about to have with DI Kennedy’s boss. I’m not seeing how a girl you don’t recognise being murdered on another team’s patch becomes our case, Jimmy. Sorry, but I’m not.’