The Autumn Tree (DI Bliss Book 8)

by Tony J. Forder

  ‘Your client might think she was clever in hiding her tracks. She had her boyfriend purchase the equipment at the same time as he leased the office space on her behalf. In our opinion, that was simply because she lacked the funds to get the business started. Essentially, she persuaded him to put up the seed money for her little enterprise while allowing her to remain in the background and well away from a paper trail.’

  ‘That sounds to me as if the evidence you have points to my client’s ex-boyfriend, not my client. If that’s the extent of it, I think we’ll be going.’ She moved as if to stand, but Bliss slapped a hand on the table, startling all three women in the room.

  ‘Stay where you are,’ he snapped. ‘Because your client certainly is.’

  ‘I beg your par–’

  ‘Put your arse back in the chair. You’re not fooling anyone.’

  Ansari jumped back in. ‘I’d do as he suggests, if I were you. Because Ms Savchuk is no criminal genius. The thing is, she planned well in getting it all together. Her boyfriend was happy enough to be receiving regular payments to cover the initial outlay and the monthly outgoings. However, your client knew nothing about programming; she had to employ somebody else to do the development work. In addition, the income generated by the site couldn’t be funnelled through your client’s boyfriend. Far too risky for him, given his association with Lewis Drake’s organisation. So instead that money went elsewhere. A traceable elsewhere, as it turns out.’

  Ansari sat back, her eyes flitting between the two women seated opposite. Meanwhile, the fingers of her right hand tapped an unconscious rhythm on the folder. Bliss hid a smile; the folder contained a great deal of printed scraps, bulking out the supposed evidence. The team had been extremely busy since Nicola Parkinson had revealed the name of the woman her son had been involved with. What they had managed to discover so far was good enough, but it never did any harm to suggest you had more.

  Harrington leaned over to whisper something in Yeva Savchuk’s ear. The young woman shook her head brusquely and replied in a soft voice. The solicitor nodded and turned to face the two detectives.

  ‘This programmer you say my client employed – have you spoken with him? He’s made a statement?’

  Still refusing to open the folder, DC Ansari said, ‘Oh, yes. And let me answer what I think your next question will be: we have access to your client’s financials, and the trail of money is irrefutable in respect of payments into the website and payments out again, including those being funnelled into offshore accounts belonging to your client.’

  ‘In which case, my client is willing to cooperate, up to a certain point.’

  ‘None of this is my idea,’ Savchuk said eagerly, finally raising her eyes from the hands fidgeting together in her lap. ‘Troy tell me one day what he want to do, his plans for running a different kind of website in the dark web. But although he say he will pay for things, it must look as if business is mine when it come to the money. He say he will be killed if Mr Drake find out what he is doing. So he pay and I run. He threaten me. If I not do as he ask, I will lose everything.’

  Ansari nodded. ‘I see. So how did it work, Yeva? Explain the operation to us.’

  ‘You know this already, I think. Is my job to find girls for site, to use black card for to gain entry. My job to do everything. I was like… like slave. No better than if you had never rescued me from container.’

  Ansari barely reacted to this obvious appeal for sympathy, while Bliss felt repulsed by it. The DC went on, ‘So you admit to running the Dark Desires website and business, and to setting up payments to the offshore accounts in your name?’

  ‘Yes. But I am forced to do this by Troy, you understand.’

  ‘So you keep insisting. But we have only your word for that, Yeva.’

  ‘Are you suggesting my client’s word is worth less than that of this Troy Parkinson character?’ Pru Harrington hissed.

  Ansari calmly met her gaze. ‘Not at all. I’m suggesting it’s worth no more, Mrs Harrington. I already have a statement from Troy Parkinson; one that describes a different sequence of events, I have to say. I’m doing my due diligence by obtaining information from your client which will hopefully result in a signed statement. Once we have them both, they will be given equal consideration.’

  ‘And is he still in a holding cell, or has he been released on bail? Because that’s what I will be seeking for my client.’

  ‘Not that it’s any of your business where Troy Parkinson is at the moment,’ Bliss interjected, ‘but in fact he is being transported here as we speak – and he will be held here until such time as we determine the full extent of the charges against him. I’d remind you that having arrested your client, I fully expect us to be charging her with a number of offences. You can also bank on additional charges to follow if we decide the weight of evidence points more towards your client. And let me be clear with you both: while the actual owner of that awful website might not be directly responsible for the deaths of five young women, the killers’ initial access to those women came via that website. As such, I’ll be speaking to the CPS about related charges.’

  ‘That is utter nonsense,’ Harrington proclaimed. ‘Even if you prove my client owned and operated the website, she simply cannot be held responsible for the actions of these men.’

  ‘Your client provided the platform from which a man was able first to use these women for his own sexual gratification, then to abduct them and sell them by the hour to a number of other men, several of whom took their sickening desires too far. Dark desires is what your client promised these men, and dark desires was what they got.’

  ‘There’s no way you can prove any of that. You haven’t yet substantiated a single thing against my client, and she will be a sympathetic figure in that witness stand when she repeats her tale of being held in sexual slavery and forced to comply with Troy Parkinson’s nauseating demands.’

  ‘Are you quite finished grandstanding?’ Ansari asked, folding her arms as she leaned back in her chair. ‘Please save it for those who might actually be impressed. The media might lap that up when you feed it to them, but a judge and jury will see right through it. As for proof and evidence, we clearly have enough to charge your client. You know the CPS as well as we do. If they are confident, so are we. And in the time it takes to bring this to trial, we’ll have gathered more. It seems to me that you have only your client’s word going for you. Surely even you can see that won’t be nearly enough.’

  After a moment of silence, Harrington said, ‘What are you looking for here? And what are you offering in return?’

  Ansari glanced at Bliss, who nodded and sat back. She then fixed her eyes on Yeva Savchuk. ‘If your client stops lying and admits to the allegations, we won’t seek others. By that I mean we’ll rethink pursuing your client with the intention of linking her business to the murders. I am in no doubt that we will be able to do so. However, as we have one man charged with murder already in custody, and another helping us with our enquiries in the pursuit of other men who committed similar murders, we are confident this investigation will be concluded satisfactorily. If your client cooperates fully and openly, we can tie things together more quickly and completely; that will be enough, as far as we are concerned. However, if she continues to lie and prevents us from bringing matters to a speedy conclusion, we are prepared to go the whole way.’

  Bliss nodded again, this time to himself. Gul Ansari had excelled in her time with the Major Crimes Unit, becoming an invaluable member of the team who delivered every single time. Having volunteered to take the training necessary to become a specialist interviewer, she was putting into practice all that she had learned. Tough, shrewd, incisive and instinctive, his colleague also made sure to leave a way out. He took a deep breath to disguise his chest becoming swollen with pride.

  ‘Would you please leave us to deliberate?’ Harrington asked.

  Ansari got to her feet. ‘No. This is an interview room. You can use one of the consulting
booths down by the custody desk. If none are available, you can consult in your client’s cell.’

  ‘Is that absolutely necessary?’

  ‘Of course. I wouldn’t say so otherwise. You get the booth or the cell. Take it or leave it.’

  Harrington took it, though when she stood she wore the look of a woman receiving a colonoscopy from Edward Scissorhands.

  ‘I have one more question before you go,’ Bliss said. He waited for Savchuk to look at him. ‘Yeva, why did you help us? You lied, of course, and there’s no denying your complicity. But you also helped prior to your arrest, which suggests you’re not an entirely lost cause. I’m guessing you got caught between the proverbial rock and a hard place. What I mean by that is, you eventually realised from everything we discussed that your site on the dark web had in some way led to a few of its users splintering off – that somebody had set up an enterprise of their own. One that had led to murder on several occasions. You then helped us as much as you could without giving away your part in it. You gave up some, you held some back. Would that be fair to say, Yeva?’

  Savchuk did not waver this time. ‘You are disappointed in me, I know. I am disappointed in myself. This is not what you expect of me. It make me sad. Even so, I will not tell you all that I do. But I will tell you what I do not do. I do not know about murder until you and Penny tell me. I do not know about how it connect to website until I am told. I do not wish for these girls to die. This break my heart. You understand?’

  Bliss thought he did. Savchuk retained enough compassion and felt enough culpability to have decided to help the police provided she did not give away her own guilty secret. Yet still something bothered him.

  ‘You say you didn’t know until we came to you. But it must have been you who cleared out Majidah Rassooli’s flat. How did you know to do that if you didn’t know she was dead, Yeva?’

  ‘I do not know this at the time. Majidah… she stop answering phone. She not available when client want her. She lose me money. I think she work for others, so I make sure she no longer have flat to work from. I tell owner to keep deposit, and we will soon bring him another girl to rent flat.’

  The landlord had not been straight with them. Tim Beaumont moved immediately to Bliss’s mental list of people who owed him. ‘Will you answer one more question, Yeva?’

  There was no holding back her solicitor on this occasion. ‘Detective Sergeant Bliss, I really must protest. My client has already said far more than I have advised her to. You suspended the interview; this is my time. You must back off!’

  Bliss continued to look only at Savchuk. He needed an answer to the question circling his mind. ‘Yeva?’ he said. ‘You don’t have to answer me, but I have to ask…’

  Savchuk nodded, snatching her arm back as Harrington attempted to pull her away. ‘If I can, I will.’

  ‘Thank you. You have a good idea what kind of life you might have had if you’d never been abandoned inside that container. You mix with these young women, so you know how some of them have to live. I want to believe that when you decided to run your own website, it wasn’t out of pure exploitation or greed. I want to believe you simply took girls who were selling themselves anyway and gave them an easier ride, a better cut – perhaps for some, even a way out. But I need you to tell me I’m not wrong.’

  She put her chin down, gave it some thought. Without so much as a glance at her solicitor she said, ‘I want a better life. This is true. What I do… is wrong. But you are not wrong about me.’

  Bliss closed his eyes and gave a nod of thanks. He heard no deceit in her voice, saw none in her eyes. It wasn’t much, but it gave him something to cling to. ‘You once told me about your struggle to breathe in that shipping container. How you kept muttering your name over and over. I remember you saying that you’d always cherish the simple, natural act of being able to take that next breath like anybody else.’ He offered a sad, reflective smile. ‘I suppose you couldn’t help but move on to something more rarefied.’

  Forty-Nine

  Bliss and Ansari headed back to the incident room. By the doors leading to the stairway, he paused and took the DC to one side.

  ‘You were superb back there, Gul. The right tone at the right time. You provided enough information for them to have to think and react, but not so much that you made it easy for them to respond. With their lies established and on record, you had them where you wanted them. Great stuff. I mean it… hugely impressive.’

  ‘Thank you, boss,’ she replied, beaming at him. ‘I’ve been taught by the best. I owe everything to you and the rest of the team.’

  Bliss shook his head. ‘No. You owe it to your own determination, intelligence and desire to do the right thing. You’re a credit to us all. Tell me if I’m overstepping the mark, but have your family come around to what you do?’

  ‘Mum has warmed to it. Not sure my dad ever will. As for my brothers… they refuse to speak about it. Mine is not the kind of job for a good Muslim girl, according to them.’

  ‘That must be hard on you.’

  ‘Not as much as you’d think. Their views are outdated, and so are they. If they choose to live their lives like that, I pity them. I’m proud of the job I do. It has value. It serves the public, and my community is as much a part of that as any other. If they’re happy to call the police in an emergency, why shouldn’t I be one of those who responds?’

  Bliss nodded. ‘I’m glad you toughed it out, Gul. I chose you to be a part of this unit because I saw the possibilities, not as part of some diversity protocol – not that I ignore those, but I wanted you to understand why you’re here. You earned it. And you’ll earn every step on the ladder you choose to make. You’re flourishing, and I wanted you to know it was not going unnoticed.’

  Ansari thanked him and they moved on. ‘I’m sorry about Savchuk, boss,’ she said as they climbed the stairs. ‘I know you had high hopes for those women we rescued.’

  ‘I’m disappointed. No denying that. But they’re human beings with human frailties. Maybe it’s me, but she and the likes of Parkinson and Drake are in completely different leagues. I regard her as more naïve than monstrous.’

  ‘I think we’d probably have to ask the women she uses how they feel about that.’

  ‘True. Whatever her reasons, they’re the ones being abused on a daily basis. Could be my disappointment clouding my judgement, Gul. She impressed me, that’s all. When Pen and I spoke to her first of all, she really did impress me.’ He sighed as they reached the second-floor landing. ‘Maybe I saw what I wanted to see.’

  The incident room was heaving and everybody in it was active. Bliss often told others this was the stage at which the real hard work began. The initial week or two of pursuit would be long forgotten by the time the case went to court. In the meantime it required hundreds of vital hours to ensure the right verdict was achieved. And that was without the assistance provided by criminals themselves, who were so often weakened by time and evidence gathering around them.

  While Bliss and Ansari were interviewing Savchuk, Hunt and Chandler had been deep in conversation with Des Knowles. Their initial interview had finished earlier, and the two were discussing their progress with DCI Warburton and Olly Bishop.

  ‘He’s being cooperative,’ Hunt said, looking pleased with himself. ‘Keen to make sure those men who physically carried out the killings go down for the murders themselves. He’s going away for a long time if we charge him with joint enterprise, and I think he’s reconciled to that, so long as nobody places his fingers around the necks of those poor young women for their final strangulation.’

  ‘He’s still as guilty as fuck,’ Bliss observed, surprised to learn that their suspect had been so forthcoming. ‘Even if we don’t go for joint enterprise on the murders, he groomed these girls, he abducted them, kept them under lock and key and pimped them out to men, knowing they might end up dead as a result. Did he cough to dumping the bodies?’

  ‘Yep. He helped each of the killers with
the disposal, having first disinfected the bodies. He was living in London at the time of the first three murders, running his operation out of a caravan on the fringes of a dodgy travellers’ site. He moved up here after his grandfather died, having inherited the kennels. Oh, and he tied up another loose end for us: those unidentified items of clothing belong to a woman he lived with. He told us she upped and walked out on him one day, leaving everything behind. We’re tracing her, but it does look as if she’s still alive. He reckons he left the clothing to throw us off the scent, and including hers made him feel as if she might also be a victim.’

  Rubbing a thumb over the scar on his forehead, Bliss said, ‘That’s good to know. We’ll need her to make a statement about her time with him. Did he say why he chose the chalk pits last time?’

  Chandler nodded and spoke up. ‘He claims the sites themselves were not particularly relevant, other than in avoiding CCTV wherever possible. When you consider previous dumping grounds, I think that’s probably true. He said he’d visited the chalk pits before and remembered that maple tree.’

  ‘So what’s his deal there?’

  ‘Nothing special as it turns out; some nonsense about growth, death and rebirth. He thought adding a whole mystical feel to the dump sites might eventually feed the serial killer angle and throw us off track.’

  Bliss put his head back and groaned. ‘Sounds like a complete nutjob. Is that going to feature as part of his defence? That he’s insane?’

  ‘A lot of people believe in a kind of spiritual empathy between humans and trees, Jimmy.’

  ‘True. But they’re usually sandal-wearing beardy types.’

  ‘And that’s just the women,’ Hunt chipped in, laughing at his own joke.

  Bliss shrugged, sickened by it all. ‘The callous bastard clearly got off on the whole thing. If he’d felt any remorse whatsoever he would’ve covered them up, not left them out on display.’

  The DCI was about to comment when Glen Ashton strolled into the room. His arrival was greeted with a low chorus of boos and blown raspberries, not all of it good humoured. He ignored the jeers and headed straight for the more senior detectives. No air of superiority this time, but neither was he cowed.