The Autumn Tree (DI Bliss Book 8)

by Tony J. Forder

  ‘And meanwhile Watson walks around as if he doesn’t have blood on his hands. Literally. I’m sure you at least looked into him before you called me up here. You know what he did. What he’s capable of.’

  ‘I do. Which suggests he’ll screw up again. His kind always do.’

  ‘The trouble is, ma’am, when his kind screw up again they usually leave a dead body in their wake.’

  ‘That’s not what I meant, and you know it.’ Fletcher’s volume and tone distorted upwards.

  ‘I know what you meant. You meant he’ll step out of line again and someone will do the right thing this time and report him to us before his violence becomes extreme. But we both also know the reality is more likely to be that things will end up where they did before. He’s killed one kid already, and – ’

  ‘Allegedly. You keep forgetting that part.’

  Bliss threw his hands in the air. ‘He did it. If you’ve even glanced at the relevant case file, ma’am, you know he did it every bit as much as I do. He beat that poor boy to death, and the mother was so terrified of him that she thought she’d be better off inside than out here with him. You know she’s already been got to by her fellow prisoners? Boiling hot water all over her throat and chest. That, to her, is preferable to a life with Watson.’

  Fletcher shifted her stance a little, tilting her head. ‘And yet legally – which is still what counts, no matter how any of us feels about it – Neil Watson is guilty of nothing. In fact, you’re closer to being charged than he is. So far he’s made a complaint about you stalking him, claiming harassment. Right at this moment, I don’t want to know the details, Jimmy. And not only because I’m looking forward to my holibobs, nor because I don’t care what happens to you. I don’t want to know the details because I fear that if I did, I’d have to turn you in to the DCS myself.’

  Bliss nodded, calming himself. ‘I appreciate that. Thank you, ma’am.’

  ‘For what?’

  ‘For giving me the opportunity to clear up my own mess.’

  ‘What mess? I know nothing about any mess; I told you, I’m the three wise monkeys rolled into one where this is concerned. You deal with it. And if you make a mess of it, you know what to expect. No thanks from a grateful public. No handshakes all round from a proud employer. Neither I nor DCI Warburton will be able to save you this time. You’ll be on your own.’

  He gave a humourless smile. ‘That’s starting to have a familiar ring about it,’ he said.

  ‘Just you make sure you don’t bring anyone else down with you, Jimmy.’

  Bliss shook his head. ‘Not a chance. I’ll get Operation Phoenix done with first, ma’am. Me and the team as a unit. Anything else is mine and mine alone.’

  Twenty-Seven

  After a time, Abbi came to realise she was close to a river or a wide drain. Locked away inside her cell, she couldn’t hear a thing emanating from the outside world. But during those infrequent occasions when Des opened up to drop her food off or collect her rubbish, or when she was allowed to visit the toilet or forced to endure the drenching and scrubbing, she picked up the odd noise drifting in on the cool breeze.

  The gentle rush of flowing water was the sound that reached her most frequently. She thought its fluctuating strength might have something to do with the tide. Every so often a dog barked in the distance. On two occasions she caught the guttural grind of a large diesel engine, and immediately thought of a tractor or harvester.

  Her initial thoughts were of her immediate surroundings prior to being drugged by Des. There was the river Nene, of course, but the gurgling she occasionally heard did not remind her of a river whose flow she knew so well. She frequented the drainage ditches and waterways out in the Fens less often, but they were ubiquitous. Abbi knew from her father, a keen observer of the tri-county flatlands, that draining of the Fens dated back to Roman times, though it began in earnest only in the early 1600s. Even so, between the rivers and the drains, there were hundreds of miles of waterways spread across the area.

  Not that this knowledge did her much good under the circumstances. She had no idea how long she had been unconscious, and therefore had no way of knowing for certain in which direction her captor had driven. She might not even be in the same county, though the close proximity of mechanical farming equipment suggested a rural location. She was inclined to think that Des would not have wanted to drive far from the city, so hope remained that she was still relatively close to home.

  But there was not much solace in that possibility. Even if she had known precisely where she was being kept, it would have counted for nothing. After all, she was unable to contact anybody to inform them. The real question was much more simple: had anybody missed her enough to report her unexplained and unplanned absence?

  The thought caused Abbi to surrender to melancholy. How had she ended up here? How had things gone so badly wrong with her parents that she would rather sell her body than return to the home in which she was raised? They had not treated her poorly; that much she could admit. It wasn’t as if her father had ever travelled the short distance along the landing from his bedroom to hers – a story she had heard often from other girls. He had only ever treated her kindly, with compassion and love. Her mother’s personality was more reserved, and if there was harshness to be found, it certainly came from her. But even these outbursts were tempered with understanding. That, and a simple desire to raise a child properly.

  The absence of sexual abuse and parental negligence aside, she had never been physically mistreated, either. Her father worked hard, and her mother kept a clean home and always put a hot evening meal on the table in addition to running her own small arts and crafts business. So much for leaving home to find independence, Abbi thought miserably. For the past couple of years she had submitted to being sexually victimised with great frequency and no tenderness – and that lifestyle choice had ultimately led her into the clutches of a man like Des and a place like this. What she would give for the warmth of her centrally heated home, her mother’s cooking and baking… even her father’s absurd, unfunny sense of humour. Together her parents had given her a great start in life, and this was what she had done with it.

  Finished with sobbing, shame burning her cheeks, Abbi stretched herself out on the vile mattress to ease away the tension in her muscles. Moments later she curled up into a ball. She pulled the duvet tight around her neck and tucked her feet up to envelop them. The room was not quite as cold as it had been on the first couple of nights, but neither was there any reprieve from the air’s corrosive touch.

  The one thing that had surprised her about the situation she found herself in was that Des had not touched her sexually since her incarceration. She had come to understand the immense high some people got from being strangled – oxygen deprivation created a unique euphoria, and when coupled with orgasm it delivered a sensation unlike any other. But choking someone else out while obtaining that same sexual rush was a completely different thing altogether. She could only imagine the added excitement came from a sense of having control over life and death in that instant.

  In truth, from the moment she first realised the terrible situation she was in, Abbi had assumed the worst: that Des would take their choking game further and further, leaving her closer each time to unconsciousness and, eventually, worse. That he had subsequently treated her more like an animal had left her confused, but equally wary. Because if Des had no intention of continuing with his peculiar form of lust, what exactly was the purpose of keeping her locked up like this?

  About to close her eyes in a bid to snatch some much-needed sleep, Abbi heard a key scuff in the lock. She jammed her eyes tight shut and turned her head away as the door groaned open.

  ‘There she is,’ Des said. ‘She’s as good as broken in. Your money buys you an hour. But remember, I have others waiting, so leave her in good condition.’

  Abbi’s heart skipped several beats. She bit into her lip, deep enough to feel the warm flow of blood in the curve between
her mouth and chin.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ came a voice she did not recognise. ‘I’m experienced. No safe word, right?’

  ‘Of course not. Where’s the fun in that?’

  Abbi felt her entire body become rigid, her flesh both crawling and tightening at the same time. She choked down a groan, perhaps even a cry of terror. Pain rippled across the muscles in her stomach, pulsing like a living creature trapped beneath the skin.

  ‘Good. She won’t need one. I’ll take her close to the edge and pull her right back again.’

  ‘You’d better,’ Des said flatly. ‘You snuff her on the first attempt and it’ll cost you big.’

  Still lying on the filthy mattress, Abbi’s stomach clenched again as she stifled the scream that threatened to erupt from the very centre of her being.

  Twenty-Eight

  At lunchtime, Bliss nipped out to buy fish and chips for everyone. Netherton Fisheries served up some of the best in the city, and had the advantage of being only a short drive from HQ. It was something he did occasionally when the team put in extra hours, and despite not being their boss anymore he insisted on paying when Bishop offered to step up instead. It inflicted some serious damage to his debit card, but keeping the troops happy was worth every penny.

  While he was waiting for the food order, Bliss popped outside to make a call. Kennedy was not exactly overwhelmed with enthusiasm, but he at least listened graciously as Bliss reeled off a summary of where the investigation was and where he hoped to lead it.

  ‘Shame I had to wait until now for an update,’ the Cambridge DI said curtly.

  Bliss sighed into his phone. ‘To tell the truth, I didn’t appreciate you and Ashton treating me like a mug after calling me out to the chalk pits. It was amateurish, and I admit I’ve responded in kind.’

  After a moment, Kennedy said, ‘Yeah, I’ll give you that one. It was Glen’s play and I let him run with it. It was stupid of me. I hold my hands up, okay. Neither of us treated you with the respect you deserve.’

  It was a fulsome apology as far as Bliss was concerned. He promised to keep the DI in the loop going forward.

  Bliss and the team ate in the canteen so as to keep the air in the incident room as fresh as possible, sharing bottles of Coke and 7-Up between them. Back at their desks thirty minutes later, DC Ansari had begun filling them in on tech support progress when Bliss took a call from Yeva Savchuk. Sara had agreed to meet with them at Yeva’s house. She was already there but would be gone again in an hour. If they still wanted to speak with her it was now or never. Bliss did not hesitate. He told Bishop about the call, and less than fifteen minutes later, he and Chandler pulled up outside Savchuk’s front door.

  The house was small but tastefully furnished. High-end electronics, expensive sofas with plump cushions, dark wood tables and bookshelves. The girl had a flair for décor, and an eye for nice things. The Croatian girl was slender with wavy brown hair that reached down almost to her waist. Big eyes and high cheekbones dominated a face too stern to be truly beautiful. A slightly crooked nose lent her some character. She wore a pale blue leisure suit beneath a fluorescent pink Superdry hoodie. Each ear supported half a dozen rings, and a single stud pierced her nose.

  The two young women sat side by side on a large sofa, leaving Bliss and Chandler to take the two matching armchairs opposite. A small coffee table stood between them, a glass chess set and board sitting squarely in its centre. Sara fidgeted constantly, looking ill at ease, her eyes cast downwards while she played with her hair.

  Bliss coughed once into his fist to draw her attention before speaking. ‘I understand Yeva has already filled you in as to where our interests lie.’

  She shifted her shoulders; a vague, uncommitted gesture.

  ‘We believe your help could be important, Sara. For two reasons: firstly, it’s possible that your own life could soon be in danger. Secondly, it’s equally possible that you may know somebody who is already under serious threat.’

  ‘This is to do with chokers, yes?’ Her voice was much deeper than Bliss had imagined, a rough smoker’s edge to it. He glanced down at her fingers, saw tell-tale nicotine stains surrounding shiny nails studded with jewels.

  Bliss nodded, relaxing his features. ‘It is. And please understand that neither of us are here to pass judgement on what you do. It’s of no concern to us, other than it perhaps putting you in the sights of a man who enjoys killing by manual strangulation. You can tell us anything. Believe me, there’s not much we haven’t heard. You won’t shock us.’

  Sara nodded as if this was acceptable to her, but her eyes flitted between them still, anxious and uncertain. ‘I tell you this, you do not tell my employer, no?’

  Chandler slid forward and leaned in. ‘Absolutely not. All we want from you is information. We will discuss it with our colleagues, but nobody from the outside. As DS Bliss mentioned, it’s not of interest to us in that way. You’re perfectly safe with us, Sara. And whatever you tell us is safe with us, too.’

  ‘Okay. Ask me and I tell you if I can.’

  Bliss leaned back, indicating to Chandler that he was happy for her to continue. ‘We might occasionally have to ask you something awkward,’ she said. ‘Something you may find a little embarrassing. But please don’t worry about it. We have some initial questions, but these tend to expand in a wider direction that’s dictated by your responses. So let’s get going, and please tell us if you need something explaining or if you’d like to take a break.’ She smiled. ‘Okay. I’ll begin by asking you if you know of any other girls who offer the same erotic asphyxiation act who haven’t been around for the past few days – say, since Tuesday or Wednesday. Anyone come to mind?’

  Sitting upright and on the edge of her cushion, Sara extended a finger and tapped it against her pouting lips. Her eyes narrowed as she gave the question some consideration. They tightened further still when she spoke. ‘I can’t be sure, but this is possible, yes. We girls who meet such men have WhatsApp group. On phone, you understand?’

  Both detectives nodded. Bliss said, ‘Yes, of course. I assume you exchange information about the men you meet, and that way you can warn others if there’s somebody out there whose behaviour is suspect?’

  Sara nodded furiously. ‘Yes. This. I do not know of man who others think badly of, except the ones who smell or are gross in other ways. But I have not seen WhatsApp from one girl in a few days. Her name is Abbi.’

  Bliss felt a flutter in his chest, a spark chasing through his bloodstream. ‘Do you know this girl outside of the WhatsApp group, Sara? Have you met? Do you know where she lives?’

  Disappointingly, the girl shook her head this time. ‘No. She do what I do, but we do not meet. I know from group that she is not like many of us – she is not from other country. She is called Abbi Turner. She is from here.’

  ‘You mean the UK?’

  ‘Yes. But here, also. Peterborough.’

  ‘So it’s your understanding that this Abbi Turner is a local girl, born and raised here in the city?’

  ‘Yes. This is what she tell us. Not many like her. Most like me and Yeva.’

  Bliss glanced across at Chandler. Her eyes widened and she nodded. Bliss thought about his next question. ‘Sara, this is extremely important. Did Abbi mention anything about a man who recently struck her as being… not quite right? Perhaps a man who got too rough, or wanted to go too far? Maybe a man who didn’t immediately respond to the safe word?’

  ‘No.’ The girl seemed certain. ‘Like us all, she not happy doing this, but she say little about client. One man she quite like. She tell us he is gentleman.’

  Chandler was immediately alert to this. ‘Did she happen to mention his name?’

  ‘No names. We use no names unless men are bad.’

  Bliss understood why his partner had been interested. It fitted their limited profile for the killer to first ingratiate himself with one girl in particular, lulling them into a false sense of security before striking. He decided to
push a little further. ‘Sara, I know you say you don’t use names inside the group. But it’s possible that Abbi knew one or two of the other girls better than you. Perhaps they were friends. They might know who this man is. Would you ask them for us? Ask your WhatsApp group if any of them know Abbi well. And if so, whether they have seen or heard from her in the past few days. Also, if she ever told them the name or any other details relating to this client she liked.’

  For the first time since they had initially made the girl feel comfortable, she started to look uncertain and anxious once again. Bliss could imagine why, and he tried to set her mind at ease. ‘We don’t want to involve them if we can possibly help it, Sara. Just as we have no interest in what you do for a living, we have no interest in them, either. Not in any way that will get you in trouble with us. But we do care about you as people. Yeva here has already vouched for us, and you can trust us as you trust her.’

  Yeva bobbed her head and turned to her friend. ‘Believe them, Sara. They do not wish to hurt any of us. Only to protect.’

  Sara took a long breath. ‘I will send message. I will ask. You want I do this now?’

  Bliss smiled. ‘If you don’t mind. The sooner we know, the sooner we can respond. But please do tell them this is urgent. The man we are after – the man who killed another girl earlier in the week – may be stalking Abbi. He may even already have her. Tell them the more they are honest with us, the better our chances of finding her alive and well.’

  Without another word, Sara slipped her phone from her pocket and began thumbing in a message. While she did so, Bliss switched his attention. ‘Thank you for this, Yeva. It may be nothing, but if not, then your swift action might help Abbi.’

  Chandler got to her feet and looked down at him. ‘How about I step into the kitchen and give Gul a bell? I’ll ask her to start a search for Abbi. Check our records, NCA’s database, the electoral roll, social media. We could get an early hit.’