The Autumn Tree (DI Bliss Book 8)

by Tony J. Forder

  A Netherlands-based encrypted phone system, used mainly by organised crime gangs, had been hacked, exposed and brought down following a lengthy police investigation. It was widely believed that a coalition of anarchist groups was already hard at work developing a replacement solution.

  ‘Have somebody find out the name of Parkinson’s daughter, please,’ Bishop said, turning back to Ansari. ‘When you have the details, add her phone and Troy’s to the list. I want to know what this bunch have been up to. If they’ve been in communication with Majidah Rassooli, I want to know about it.’

  It was good work, but they all knew how long it could take for the phone company to come through with the data. Bliss was keen to get out of the building to clear his head – but before the briefing broke up, he made sure everybody knew that Bishop was too nice a bloke to insist on being regarded as the unit’s leader under such trying circumstances. Nevertheless, Bliss demanded, they should do so from that point on; Bishop was their boss unless DCI Warburton was present.

  ‘Temporary or not,’ Bliss concluded, ‘Bish deserves the respect he has earned. This team has a great reputation for keeping things relatively relaxed. I know the top brass hate that, but it suits us. So I’m no longer the boss. I’m Jimmy unless formality is required. If so, it’s plain old DS Bliss.’

  Their DCI wanted an update afterwards, having been attending a course in Huntingdon for most of the day, so she invited Bliss, Bishop and Chandler for a drink. As usual, she left it to Bliss to decide where they should go.

  Its stone-built structure swaddled with ivy, the Botolph Arms had originally been built as two fairly large and grand separate dwellings. They had remained that way for over two centuries before being converted into a pub. Set back from the main road in pleasant grounds, the Botolph was regarded as a local family pub, its interior warm and inviting. Warburton bought them each a drink before settling down to the day’s final business.

  ‘I wanted you all here because Bish is going to have to rely on you two quite heavily in the coming days,’ she said. ‘I was collared by DCS Feeley as I made my way out of Hinchingbrooke; his opposite number in central Cambridge had been in touch. Apparently, Inspector Kennedy remains keen to see this case back under his wing. I have a feeling that unless this Lewis Drake angle can be confirmed within the next forty-eight hours, it’ll be taken from us. Jimmy, where are we on that score?’

  Bliss took a long pull of his Old Brewery ale, decided it was all right, and had another. When he replied, his tone reflected his sombre mood. ‘In truth, I’m not confident. As I mentioned at the briefing, I don’t regard the murder as the work of a private punter. But this eastern European agency is a possibility we can’t ignore. Majidah turned out for both of them, it seems. Without further details, we can’t know which of them was responsible for bringing her over here. That’s about the only thing stopping me going harder at Drake’s business.’

  ‘Plus, there’s the possibility that this other agency is also run by Drake’s OCG,’ Chandler said. ‘It’s been buried deeper and seemingly with no UK contact base.’

  ‘And the NCA?’ Warburton asked. ‘Organised crime gangs are their bread and butter. How much use has Ashton been?’

  ‘He’s done okay,’ Bliss said reluctantly. ‘All that he can do, in fact. Time is the key element here: we need it, but we don’t have it. Whichever way this op leans, I keep coming back to our victim having my card on her. I keep changing my mind about who did what, but if I had to guess, I’d say it was our Somalian girl who gave up hers. I don’t know how the two met, nor where, but I think they did. And I think she handed the card over because she was leaving the area and decided Majidah needed it more. The most logical place for us to start trying to run down the connection between them is the home in which our Somalian girl was living before she absconded.’

  ‘But Majidah couldn’t have been living there as well, otherwise we’d have her on our system,’ Bishop pointed out.

  ‘True. But the two might have met elsewhere and struck up a relationship.’

  ‘It’s thin,’ Warburton said.

  ‘But quite possibly our only real lead to follow up on, at the moment. However, I think we should run her photo in the local papers and the TV news, asking for anybody who knew her or recognises her from somewhere to come forward. The girl had a life outside of what she did, and somehow we have to find a way to it.’

  All eyes turned to their DCI. Hers fell upon Bishop. ‘Do you want to take that on, Bish? For reasons we’re all familiar with, Jimmy is no longer considered for media briefings. As DI and deputy SIO on this, however, it’s something you ought to handle. It’d go down well when the time comes for you to take the step up for real.’

  Bishop looked uncomfortable, and Bliss thought he knew why. ‘I think Bish might need some clear guidelines as to what his response should be if my demotion comes up. This is our biggest case since then, and I don’t see how it won’t get a mention.’

  ‘Jimmy’s right,’ Bishop said. ‘I’d want to stonewall them in the event they ask about it, or my reaction to it.’

  ‘We’re only talking local media at this stage,’ Warburton reminded them. ‘The Telegraph, Hunts Post and Cambridge News and possibly the Independent. Them plus Look East, Anglia and Cambridgeshire Live.’

  ‘It only takes one question, boss.’

  She regarded Bishop for a moment, then nodded. ‘Blanket “no comment” on the subject. We’ll put you together with our own media staff – they’ll settle your nerves. To make it easier, we’ll have press releases rather than a briefing for the newspapers, together with the NCA security photo. You’ll speak to the TV people only. A media officer will be with you at all times.’

  Bliss noticed how reluctant his colleague was. It seemed like another aspect of the job Bishop did not want. That it went hand-in-hand with a promotion to DI was something he would have to accept. It was expected of him, and this would be his first taste of that level of scrutiny.

  ‘Perhaps I should advise Bish how best to deal with the media?’ he suggested.

  That elicited the laughter he’d hoped to inspire. Bishop’s large frame juddered as he chuckled at the thought. Taking advice from Bliss on how to deal with journalists would be like accepting peacekeeping guidance from ISIS.

  They called it a night after the one drink, and Chandler drove Bliss home. As she pulled in to his turning, she said, ‘Can I ask you something personal?’

  He choked back a laugh. ‘Since when have I ever been able to stop you? I don’t know why you even bother asking.’

  ‘Just to be polite.’

  ‘What is it this time, Pen?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking about you and… ladies of the night?’

  ‘What d’you mean by that?’

  ‘Well, there was your… relationship with Connie Rawlings during your first posting here, for one thing. Not that I have anything against women like that, nor what they do. But I know you grew attached to her during that investigation, and I’ve also heard you shutting down negative conversations where others like her are concerned. Now this young woman’s murder has clearly affected you, and it makes me wonder what it is about hookers that has you polishing your armour.’

  Bliss said nothing immediately. Connie Rawlings had been a witness; she’d also been a prostitute. In a moment of human weakness, animal instinct, and hunger for instant gratification and comfort on both their parts, they had gone to bed together. It was only the one time, and their connection had not contributed to her eventual murder, which occurred because of what she knew about the main victim in a case Bliss was running at the time. Yet somehow the correlation between that memory and another from further back in his past felt like a rapid thrust to the heart with a stiletto blade – or perhaps even a heel.

  Chandler must have sensed his immediate discomfort. She put a hand on his arm and told him it was okay, that he should ignore her question and forget she had ever asked it.

  But Bliss shook his he
ad, ready to tell his partner something he had never told another living soul. ‘I once had a snout who happened to be a prostitute. She fed me information, but she was also a friend. Her name was Elaine. I tried on many occasions to talk her out of being on the game altogether, but she wouldn’t hear of it; said it was all she was good for. In her mind, it was either that or knock out some kids and live on the dole for the rest of her life. She always did have a low opinion of herself. In the end, shortly after I made DC, the best I could do was to speak with Vice and help fix her up as an escort with an agency. Get her off the streets, give her some protection. Stability. I like to think I got through to her.’

  ‘So what happened?’

  ‘A couple of days after we last spoke, maybe twenty-four hours before I could have sealed the deal, she got into the wrong car with the wrong man.’

  Chandler closed her eyes and screwed up her face. ‘Oh, Jimmy. I’m so sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay. It’s desperately sad, but not one of those things I blame myself for. I did all I could. All that she would allow me to do. Just sheer bad luck and piss-poor timing.’

  ‘Did you get him for it?’

  Bliss nodded. ‘Some sad loser. Middle-aged man with a wife and kids. It was his first time with a pro. He panicked, convinced himself it was a setup and that he was going to be blackmailed. Told us he couldn’t allow his family to know what he’d done.’

  ‘So murder was a better option?’

  ‘Sometimes it is to these twisted fucks.’

  ‘That explains a lot,’ Chandler said after a lengthy pause. ‘About you, I mean. And somehow it doesn’t surprise me in the least.’

  ‘Yeah. Wears you down over time, though, Pen. Maybe one day you reach the point where you become a tiny little nub, and the next you disappear inside yourself altogether.’

  ‘You’re beginning to worry me, Jimmy. The way you talk sometimes.’

  He laughed and shook his head. ‘Don’t worry about me. I’m not the kind to do something stupid.’

  ‘You what? You do something stupid at least twice a day.’

  ‘Fair play. But not that stupid. Not what you’re thinking.’

  Bliss knew his partner didn’t want to leave it there, but they had gone as far as he was willing to take matters for one evening. Before exiting her car, he did leave Chandler with one final thought.

  ‘How naïve was I to have ever imagined that placing Elaine in the hands of an escort agency was in any way saving her?’

  ‘You can’t know that it wouldn’t have done, Jimmy. Plus, it doesn’t sound as if you had a great deal of choice in the matter.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But we know how these girls are treated. They’re as good as modern-day slaves, with no way out other than down or… or out. I think about what happened to our victim, and yet she was in precisely the situation I was happy to put my friend into.’

  ‘Which we still know is better than walking the streets,’ Chandler assured him. ‘You did the best you could. Or, at least, you tried to. If she wouldn’t quit, it seems to me you at least showed you cared.’

  Bliss sighed as he climbed out. Nodded. ‘I hope she knew that, Pen. I really do.’

  He was surprised to find the house empty; he checked his phone and found he had missed a call from Emily while he was in the pub. He grabbed a bottle of Anchor Steam from the fridge, slid open the door leading to the garden, and stepped back out into the cold night air. It was about time to switch on the pond warming device to keep his koi happy. He drained half his beer before listening to the voicemail Emily had left.

  Afterwards, he deleted the message and leaned back against the house, eyes on his fish. A tough day at work on too little sleep had left Emily feeling exhausted, so she was going to go to her own home and crash out there. She’d sounded a little sullen, but that could have been tiredness. They had no permanent arrangement as to when she came over or where she slept, so this was not unusual. The fact of this message coming the day after she inadvertently met one of his exes was not necessarily relevant.

  Bliss put on a Guster CD. Their Lost and Gone Forever album was his favourite, though he had been promising himself to put together a mixed CD or MP3 collection for the car. First track up was ‘What You Wish For’, and Bliss felt the pull of the lyrics swarming around inside his head; the lines about getting what you deserve and sweeping secrets under the bed got caught up most of all. They remained with him even when the second track came in. Were the secrets he was keeping about to get him what he deserved? Would Neil Watson prove to be the final nail in the coffin of his career? And perhaps even the wedge that drove him and Emily apart for good?

  He was out of Anchor Steam, so had to settle for a bottle of Stella next time around. Emily had made sure he had fresh food in the fridge and cupboards, but he wasn’t in the mood to make dinner for himself. He considered calling her, but decided she probably needed the space. He thought that was the real reason she had decided to go home, and wondered what that meant for them both.

  When the CD moved on to ‘All The Way Up to Heaven’, Bliss fastened on the lyrics once more. He regarded himself as an atheist; perhaps even an anti-theist. Certainly he had no time for heaven, the great beyond or the comfort of any light at the end of a tunnel. For Wile E. Coyote, that had only ever become an express train about to mow him down, and Bliss gave the concept no greater weight than a cartoon. But if one day he was eventually proven wrong, he hoped that along with his father and wife he would also find his old friend Elaine there waiting for him.

  Sixteen

  The moment he entered the incident room the next morning, Bliss was hailed by Carolyn Miller. He’d picked up a tray of coffees from a roadside vendor close to home; their cardboard container was yielding to the weight, making the task of carrying them more difficult than it needed to be. He set them down on the empty desk next to Miller’s, relieved not to have spilled the cups everywhere in the process.

  ‘Help yourself,’ he told her. ‘There’s black or there’s white. That’s about as fancy as my orders get.’

  Miller thanked him and took one marked with a fat W. She seemed a little reticent after summoning him across the room, so Bliss encouraged her to tell him what was on her mind.

  ‘I hope you don’t mind me injecting myself into your case, sir,’ she said, ‘only I noticed something peculiar when I was putting the exhibits away last night. I double-checked as soon as I got in this morning, and felt I had to say something.’

  Bliss gave what he hoped passed for a grin, though his early morning attempts were often mistaken for grimaces. ‘Well, now you have to tell me, don’t you? Can’t leave me dangling like that, Carolyn.’

  She gave him a grateful nod. ‘It might be nothing, but I’d kick myself if I didn’t tell you. It’s our victim’s clothes, sir. They’re all wrong.’

  Curious, Bliss nodded for her to continue. ‘In what way?’

  ‘The sizes, sir. Whenever we have a new major crime, I tend to familiarise myself with the victims – I can’t help myself. I’ve seen the photos of ours in this case, and she was a tiny little thing – much smaller than me. So you see, while the bra might be about right, nothing else is. I’d say our victim is a size six. However, the knickers in evidence are a size ten, the stockings are way too long, and the dress is a fourteen. If she’d been wearing it, you’d have all noticed right away. It’s way too big for her, sir. It would swamp her. I don’t think the clothes we have are hers.’

  Intrigued by this and immediately realising its importance, Bliss asked Miller to open her desk drawer and pull out all the bagged items. When she reached the shoes, Miller paused, running an eye over them. ‘I didn’t think to check earlier, but these look too big to me as well, sir.’

  Bliss grabbed a pair of nitrile gloves from an open box and wriggled his hands into them with some difficulty. When they were pulled tight and he was able to flex his fingers properly, he opened each bag in turn and spread their contents out on a nearby table. Since fir
st stepping inside the forensic tent in the early hours of Wednesday morning, he had been wondering why the clothes had been left in a neat pile close to the body. His mind tumbled through the possibilities, but this did not sit right with any of the scenarios they had considered so far. He began to feel that familiar mixture of excitement and trepidation lodging in his stomach, together with the need to take extra breaths.

  According to its label, the dress was sold by Dorothy Perkins. The name sounded familiar to him, so he thought it was probably a high street brand. Bliss asked Carolyn to stand up. When she got to her feet, he held the dress up against her.

  ‘You think the size on the tag is right?’ he asked her.

  ‘I’d say so, yes. This could be two whole sizes bigger than me, so I think this is a genuine fourteen.’

  Next came the shoes. The brand name looked to have been on the inside heel, but had been worn away. But when he turned the shoe over, he saw on the instep a figure and some lettering. On closer inspection, it was a sticker that had not been peeled off. It told him the shoe was a size seven, made in China from manmade materials.

  ‘We can get an accurate measurement from pathology,’ he said. ‘But a seven would be pretty big for a girl as petite as our victim, wouldn’t you say?’

  Carolyn nodded emphatically. ‘Absolutely, sir. They also look to be a wide fit, which again would suggest they belonged to somebody much larger. Perhaps the owner of the dress.’

  To Miller, the bra still looked as if it could be right. Bliss had no clue. However, as one of the cups had also contained the two business cards tucked away inside the lining, he had to ask searching questions about their find. Until this juncture they’d had no reason to ask whether their victim was the one who had secreted the cards away, but it was now a matter for urgent re-examination.

  The exhibits officer had already given her opinion regarding the size of the lacy red crotchless knickers. Bliss had another question. ‘The bra and knickers don’t match. I don’t mean to be indelicate, Carolyn, but… I’m right in saying that’s quite common, yes?’