The Autumn Tree (DI Bliss Book 8)

by Tony J. Forder

  ‘That’s hardly the point,’ Bliss said, flushing as he defended himself. ‘Whose case it was is irrelevant to the eventual outcome. The boy is still dead, and that murdering deviant is walking around on our streets as if he owns the place. He should be banged up.’

  ‘And only Jimmy Bliss can put him there.’

  ‘That’s not what I’m saying. But I do appear to be the only one trying to do it now that the trial is over.’

  ‘Isn’t that just one of those things that are as they are?’

  He snorted and shook his head. ‘Okay. You’ve got me on that one, Em. You win that argument. Yes, I say one thing and do another. But why does any of that have to affect me and you? Why is it getting in the middle of us?’

  ‘Because it’s a symptom of a man who has no intention of changing his ways, irrespective of what it costs him.’

  ‘You mean the job? I should give a stuff about the job. All it’s ever done is shit on me from a bloody great height.’

  ‘And that was never your fault? You never played a role in your own downfall? And besides, it’s not only the job we’re talking about. Your reaction to this man is unreasonable – in fact, I’d go so far as to say it’s irresponsible. You’re goading him. You want him to slip up, to show everybody what he’s truly like.’

  ‘Where’s the problem in that?’

  ‘Because if you push him too far, who do you think he’ll take it out on? The next time you stand in front of him, maybe it’ll be you he beats to a pulp. Maybe you’ll be the one he murders. And worst of all, Jimmy… you don’t even appear to care if that’s the way things go. You’ll just die with a wide grin on your face, knowing you got your man.’

  Bliss flapped a hand and turned his head away. ‘You’re being dramatic.’

  Emily broke away from his embrace and sat forward. She reached out, pulled his hand back down and clutched it in her own once more. ‘Am I?’ she asked him, tears glistening in the corners of her eyes. ‘Am I really? I don’t believe that’s the case, Jimmy. I don’t know if this has something to do with what happened to Mia, or whether it’s a culmination of everything you’ve experienced in your adult life. Maybe it’s even the fact that you see yourself being out of this way of life all too soon. I’m not sure if even you know. But you are on a downward spiral, and though you have me and Penny and your mother all eager to help pull you out, nothing seems to reach you.’

  The muscles in his face became taut, his jaw clenched. He felt heat rise from his throat to his face. He could almost feel his eyes withdraw into their sockets. This was not something he wanted to hear. No matter how close to the bone, for him this was no mere conversation; this was his life. Emily and those she had mentioned were special to him, important in every conceivable way, but he was done with being moulded. That had ended a long time ago. He was not the man Emily wanted him to be, nor the one Hazel had ever imagined he could become – but eventually you had to accept who you were rather than the person you might have been. Or the one others wanted you to be.

  Living the way he did came at a price, and once again it was asking him to pay out. And he knew he would. He’d forego whatever comfort he and Emily could have drawn from each other in future years if it meant he could still put people like Neil Watson in prison. In the same way that he’d sacrifice a more restful, peaceful lifestyle if he could nail the man who had strangled the life out of at least four young women.

  That was who he was. It was who he would always be.

  It was the one thing Jimmy Bliss was certain of.

  Twenty-Five

  Bliss was running on a combustible cocktail of adrenaline and anger. With Emily having left soon after their conversation faltered, he knew he ought to stay at home, spend the night in his recliner, listening to music and drowning his sorrows in alcohol. It was the tried and trusted method of blocking out emotional pain, and it had worked well in the past. But this time he felt beyond that, and knew precisely where to go to pick a fight.

  SheDevils was located in the city centre, opposite Peterborough’s main marketplace. If you had a penchant for shelling out on overpriced booze and watching young women cavort on stage wearing little and sometimes nothing, with private dances highly encouraged, SheDevils was the place for you. It wasn’t the kind of establishment Bliss would usually want to be found anywhere near, but Neil Watson worked the entrance as a doorman. When Bliss cruised by, he made sure the bulked-up man was aware of his presence before he swung the car around and pulled up in a vacant slot further along the road.

  Watson threw several hard stares Bliss’s way, all to no effect. This went on for fifteen minutes. Then, right on cue, he broke away from his equally brawny partner, crossed the road and headed towards the parked pool car. With mounting excitement coursing through his bloodstream, Bliss watched the irate man approaching. The sensible thing would have been to drive away, having successfully slipped beneath the man’s skin enough to prompt a reaction; on another night, he might well have done so. On this particular night, however, he was not quite himself. Instead of powering off, he got out of the car to confront the clearly furious doorman.

  ‘Okay, you prick!’ Watson snarled, teeth virtually meshed together like an enamel cage. ‘I’ve had about all I’m willing to take from you. I’m calling my solicitor. Right now.’

  Bliss regarded him casually, as nonchalant as he could manage. ‘Please do. It’s a free country, or so I am told.’

  ‘He’ll take you to the cleaners, Bliss. This is harassment!’ Watson spat the last word, spittle fleeing his lips as if it had been trapped against its will.

  ‘You think? I was merely sitting here pondering my day, wondering whether to pop in for a drink. You’re the one who crossed the street to confront me, not the other way around.’

  Watson took a step closer, glaring and prodding the air in front of him. ‘Because you’re following me.’

  ‘So you allege. I say that’s not the case.’

  ‘So what are you doing here? Outside my place of work?’

  ‘This is where you work? I had no idea. I was just out for a drive. Feeling a bit restless.’

  ‘Yeah? Then why aren’t you still driving?’

  ‘I got tired. You know what they say about pulling over when you get tired.’

  ‘And you happened to feel tired here?’

  ‘It does look that way. Believe me, it’s pure coincidence. We’ve all got to be somewhere, right?’

  Another step. Another jab with the pointing finger. ‘You’re talking out of your arse, and my solicitor will tear you a new one. That’s if I don’t do it myself.’ Watson looked around. The street was quiet, pavements empty. ‘Nobody would blame me if I did. Believe me, I’m so fucking tempted.’

  Bliss took a beat or two to settle himself. How far did he want to take this? And to what purpose? Perhaps this was the moment he had been building towards. He eased out a long breath, a fine mist briefly lying between them. ‘You think because you have thirty years on me and you pump your body full of steroids that you’d kick my arse? That kind of complacency can be dangerous.’

  ‘You reckon?’

  ‘I do. Besides, I don’t think you have it in you. I reckon you’re only brave when it comes to hitting women and children.’

  ‘I did all right against your mate. Or didn’t that wanker you had following me tell you about the pasting I gave him?’

  ‘Yeah, he told me. Told me it was no big deal, either. Reckons you’re a bit soft. You suckered him, otherwise things would have gone the other way. Like I said, women and children are more your mark.’

  Watson’s shoulders tensed. His fingers flexed. He was teetering on the edge, and Bliss was glad of it. He recalled Emily accusing him of goading the man, and had known all along that she was right.

  The finger came up one more time. ‘You need to get the fuck out of here, old-timer. And I mean right this second. If you don’t, I’ll have you. I swear I will. You come at me as a man and not a cop, and I’ll beat t
he shit out of you.’

  The sensible thing remained for Bliss to get back into his car and drive away; any victory Watson took from it would be a hollow one. Only he wanted to see how far this bully would go. The man had an inch on him as well as three decades and a few kilos of heavy muscle, but Bliss could tell he was no brawler. The man didn’t set himself right. His stance was weak, leaving him vulnerable.

  Watson would expect him to back off, so instead Bliss moved in close. His opponent would need to put distance between the two of them if he intended to take a proper swing. Bliss realised he’d left himself open should the doorman decide to use brute strength rather than throw a punch, but he believed in his assessment of the man. If he was wrong… it didn’t bear thinking about.

  ‘I’m right here, Neil,’ he said. ‘Still in your face. And you know what? I’m enjoying myself. You were right. I am harassing you, and nobody is going to say I didn’t deserve whatever you decide to dish out. You have all the advantages, but I’ll still let you take the first shot.’

  Bliss knew his Sun Tzu; these were the perfect circumstances to wait, allow his enemy to move first. If he’d read Watson correctly, the man would opt instead to make a lame excuse and walk away – provided he hadn’t taken a recent hit of his drug of choice, in which case Bliss would be screwed.

  Watson’s hands clenched. He shifted from foot to foot, but still his feet were too close together and in line with each other. If he went for it and Bliss slipped the punch, which would be slow and predictable, he’d immediately become unbalanced and topple forward. That would hand the advantage to Bliss, and he had only a split second to decide how far he wanted to go. In his current mood, the thought of taking it to extremes did not deter him. He thought Watson would back off, but a large part of him wanted it to go the other way.

  Unlike his opponent, Bliss had slipped naturally into the right position to both repel an attack and respond swiftly with his own. His last fight had ended up a panting, wheezing mess on a muddy embankment; he was out of shape and had the stamina for probably no more than a minute of the kind of physical exertion trading blows with somebody entailed. Even if he won, he’d almost certainly break knuckles, tear ligaments and pull muscles. And yet still he egged Watson on.

  ‘Come on, big man,’ he said. ‘If you need some encouragement, pretend I’m a small kid you can batter to death. We both know that’s more your style.’

  Anger erupted in Watson’s eyes, but rapidly diminished. He had managed to reel in the momentary outrage, and Bliss assumed the man had come to his senses. Even if he had the heart to tackle Bliss, his was a no-win situation. Whatever the provocation, attacking a police officer would forever condemn him and land him in the kind of trouble he’d thus far managed to avoid.

  ‘You haven’t heard the last of me,’ Watson muttered softly. ‘I do you out here in the open and that’s me finished. But keep both eyes open in the shadows from now on, Bliss. And one eye open when you sleep.’

  Empty threats. Bliss had heard it all before, and he knew the difference between a meaningless gesture and genuine intent. He planted a wide grin on his face and got back into his car. As he drove past Watson he winked and gave the man a wave, the further insult not necessary but nonetheless satisfying. Applying pressure was the sole intention of this campaign Bliss had decided to wage against the man.

  As he turned the corner he caught sight of two women exiting the club through a set of double doors. He recognised both. He pulled up by the kerb and powered down the passenger window. ‘Fancy seeing you two here,’ he said. ‘You want a lift home?’

  Marta Lsenko said she was only walking her friend to the taxi rank, and from there she was headed to O’Neill’s bar and restaurant to meet somebody. A somewhat sheepish-looking Yeva Savchuk accepted his offer. Bliss asked for her address, and was surprised to hear she lived out in Cardea, a relatively new collection of privately built homes.

  ‘You have your own place?’ he asked.

  ‘A one-bedroom house. Is small, but clean and warm.’

  ‘You’ve done well for yourself. I’m happy for you.’

  ‘Thank you. I work hard. But I would be nothing if not for you and your colleagues. If you are looking for me to thank you, I am happy to do this.’

  Bliss turned his head to look at her. ‘What? No, Yeva – that’s not what I want at all. I want nothing from you. I’m giving you a lift home, that’s all.’

  The girl’s face turned crimson and she let her chin drop. He could tell she had not wanted to make the offer, and she certainly would not have been happy to thank him in the way she’d implied. He understood her impulse, however. Such was the nature of young girls whose fate had come close to living that kind of life on a permanent basis.

  ‘I was surprised to see you with Marta,’ he said quickly, hoping to shake them both off the subject. ‘And coming out of a place like that. Do you mind if I ask you what you were both doing there?’

  ‘I do not mind. I told you I will not do what Marta does. But I do have second job. I dance at club. Not lap dance, you understand. Nor full strip. I dance pole, I earn good tip money. I don’t dance for men or do other things for money. You understand difference?’

  ‘I do.’ Bliss nodded. It seemed important to her.

  ‘I do this because I enjoy exercise and atmosphere, not because I have to. Not like Marta. She need to earn living this way.’

  ‘I get it. But I didn’t think you and Marta were close.’

  ‘We see each other at club only. We are friends, but not close. What we went through, we went through together. You don’t forget such things. You don’t forget the journey or the people you make journey with. We share something. A different kind of friend.’

  Bliss felt an overwhelming sympathy for both girls. All of them, in fact. The five they had rescued, the one who had escaped only to lose her life so brutally at the hands of Lewis Drake’s men. Not forgetting all those who had come before and since. The trafficking of people followed by indentured slavery had gone on seemingly since there had been people around to exploit. That it still existed, with all the money, technological advances and united police forces spread across the world trying to prevent it, was an abomination to him. Such people were enslaved against their will, and often they were still in chains of one form or another. Across the decades this seemed to have largely been forgotten.

  ‘I don’t suppose you’ve ever come across a young Croatian woman by the name of Sara, have you?’ he asked her, on the off-chance. ‘Marta knows her, but says she doesn’t know how to contact her. I wondered if you knew the girl and how I might get in touch.’

  Savchuk looked across at him, and Bliss knew before she spoke that his night had not been in vain after all. ‘Why? She do something bad?’

  He shook his head. ‘No. Not that I know of, at least. The thing is, Yeva, she might have information for us about the young girl I told you about – our victim. There’s also the possibility that she may be in danger. If she were to meet with the wrong man… she could be another victim.’

  ‘You know who victim is?’

  ‘We do. We believe she was called Majidah Rassooli. Also known as Autumn, or sometimes Honey or Larmina. Do any of those names mean anything to you?’

  Shaking her head, Savchuk began to tear up. ‘No. I don’t know these names. I know Sara because she was friend to Primrose – you know Haweeo?’

  ‘Yes. We’re aware the two were close. We think Primrose might be the one who gave up her card. She may have given it to Sara, or she might have known Majidah and handed it over to her directly. In truth, I don’t know how much Sara will be able to help us, but I would like to speak to her about it. And warn her off… if she’ll listen.’

  ‘Warn her?’

  ‘Yes. She might well be in danger.’

  ‘How? What kind of danger? From who?’

  ‘I can’t tell you everything I know, Yeva. It’s confidential, you understand? But if Sara is connected to our victim in a s
pecific way – and it sounds to me as if she might be – then she is at risk. I’m not exaggerating. It’s the kind of risk that can cost a girl her life.’

  After several long seconds, Savchuk finally relented. ‘I think I know how to speak with Sara. You let me meet. I persuade her to talk to you. You and Penny, I think. Sara will feel more comfortable with Penny there. I tell her you are good people, that I am here because of you. She will speak with you, I think.’

  Bliss wanted to push harder, but he knew he had to handle this young woman more delicately. It was against her nature to trust, and encouraging somebody else to do the same would be a massive deal to her. It would take all she had to give.

  ‘Thank you,’ he said. ‘Please try for me. We’ll meet her wherever suits her best, whenever it suits her most. Just me and Pen. We want nothing more from her than to talk. But please do warn her we think there is a man out there who is dangerous, so the sooner she speaks with us the better.’

  Twenty-Six

  Bliss treated Chandler to breakfast the following morning; he met her at the Holiday Inn, which served a delicious eggs Benedict. He had no idea if their hollandaise sauce was made by the chef or bought from a supermarket, but it was tasty. After they were done eating, he told his companion about the conversation he’d had with Emily the previous night.

  ‘I can’t believe it,’ she said, slumping back in her chair. ‘So that’s it? You two are finished?’

  ‘As a couple? Yes. As friends? I hope not.’

  ‘So it’s not salvageable? At all?’

  ‘I think the crux of the matter, Pen, is that we both decided there was nothing to salvage.’

  ‘So after you had your talk, she just upped and left?’

  Bliss gave a wistful smile. ‘Yes and no. That was the odd thing about the whole experience. She left, I went out for a drive. When I got back home, she was there again. Waiting for me in her car, not wanting to use her key. I made us a drink and we talked some more, though we mostly seemed to go around in circles. She ended up staying. She came up to bed with me. We didn’t… nothing happened. She lay in my arms, her back to me, until we fell asleep. She went off first. When I woke up just after five, she’d already left.’