If Fear Wins (DI Bliss Book 3)

by Tony J. Forder

He weighed up the two men. Bristow was older by a decade, greying hair closely cropped. Carried a bit of extra weight around the gut, but was otherwise densely muscled. Bliss noticed the slightly stained teeth of a smoker, and a nervous tic just beneath his left eye. Cogger appeared hesitant, hanging on Bristow’s every word. His fair hair, centre-parted, was carefully moulded back with product. He was thin but looked in decent shape. He wore narrow and wide glasses with a vague blue tint to them. To Bliss’s trained eye, the pair of them looked shifty.

  ‘What I am interested in is one specific detail,’ Bliss said eventually. ‘That is, when you two were last in that exact same spot or close enough to it prior to discovering the smouldering body.’

  Cogger glanced at his colleague. Bliss knew then that Bristow was, as he had assumed based on the pair’s body language, the Alpha of the two.

  ‘We would have been in the general area at approximately 4am.’ Bristow said, his gaze shifting anywhere but directly at Bliss. As he spoke, he relaxed his crossed-arm posture and edged back in his seat. Bliss had seen it all before. The movement was designed to make his interrogator believe he was being open and above board. In fact it had the opposite effect.

  ‘Would have or were?’ Bliss asked.

  ‘Were. I meant we were there at that time.’

  ‘Are you quite certain of that, Mr Bristow? Before you answer this time, I can assure you that I have no interest in whether you were fast asleep in the back of your vehicle or screwing some bit on the side instead of running patrols, and nothing you say now will get back to your employers.’

  Now the arms were re-crossed, and Bristow set his shoulders. ‘I’m certain. 1am, followed by 4am and finally 7am.’

  Bliss nodded and gave a casual smile. ‘I see. Let me just clarify, anything truthful that you tell me will not go any further, and certainly not to your employers. A lie, however… well, I think they may need to be advised if their own security guards are dishonest. So–’

  ‘Now, hold a minute! You can’t–’

  ‘I wasn’t finished. Please don’t interrupt me again. I’m going to give you one final opportunity to answer my question, but I’m also going to provide you with one more piece of information before you do. So listen, and listen closely. Left unchecked, it takes an average of four to five hours for a body to burn itself out. You two came upon the body when the fire was virtually extinguished, so if you stick to your previous answer, I would be duty bound to wonder how come you both failed to spot it aflame when you were there three hours earlier?’

  Cogger hung his head and sighed. ‘Shit, Ryan. I told you this wouldn’t work.’

  ‘Okay, okay,’ Bristow said. He ran a hand over his stubbled chin. ‘Look, we were supposed to run a patrol at 4am but we didn’t. We were not asleep, we simply didn’t run the patrol. So you’re right, the last time we were there was around 1am.’

  ‘And there was nothing to be seen at that time?’

  Bristow shook his head. ‘Nothing at all. And we would have noticed.’

  ‘I’m sure you would have. The pair of you come across as alert and keen, determined to do the job you’ve been paid to do. For the record, that’s what I thought your story was going to be. Think yourself lucky that I’m not reporting you both. However, we have requested CCTV footage and will now focus on that six-hour window. You’d better hope that neither your employers nor the company they contract with looks at the footage and wonders why they see your vehicle twice instead of three times.’

  ‘You’re not going to jam us up, are you?’ Cogger asked, his face twisted with anxiety.

  ‘Not me. But I can’t stop them watching that footage. It is theirs, after all. Don’t worry, I doubt they’ll be interested in any patrol times other than the one where you found the victim. But I’d better not see anything on that footage that you haven’t yet mentioned.’

  ‘Such as?’ Bristow said.

  ‘Anything. Other vehicles being parked up or passing by whilst you were there, early arrival and delay over making your call to us. You gave us your story. The security recording better back it up is what I’m saying.’

  ‘It will. We missed that one run, that’s all. We have no other reason to lie to you.’

  Bliss got to his feet. ‘I’m very glad to hear it. I dare say your own people will want a chat with you two, but for now I’m done with you both.’

  As he and Chandler made their way back to the team, Bliss thought about the timing and could not shake the anomalies. Livingston had left the pub in Barnack at around 11.30pm. His body had not been in Kings Cliffe Road an hour and a half later when the security patrol want through, but given the burn time was probably set alight by no later than 1.30am. So where had the young man been during those two hours? Was it possible that for some reason as yet unknown to them he had walked there, and that having reached that spot he was then randomly attacked? And if so, why was he there, and where was he heading?

  As usual at this early stage of an investigation there were far more questions than answers. That balance needed to change rapidly.

  ‘What did you think of those two?’ Bliss asked his partner as they headed down the corridor towards Major Crimes.

  ‘Not entirely sure. They both seemed a bit edgier than I would have expected just because they missed out a patrol run.’

  ‘Yeah, something not quite right about them.’

  ‘I don’t put them in the frame as knowing anything about our victim,’ Chandler clarified. ‘Just covering their arses on something.’

  Bliss was thinking along the same lines. ‘We’ll have another crack at them tomorrow if needs be.’

  In their absence, the case had kicked up a notch or two. The RAF had rounded up a team of cadets to help with the police search of the most likely route taken by the flying officer on his walk back to base. The murder scene itself had been closed, and both Bishop and Ansari were currently at the mortuary. Bliss did not envy them attending a burns victim post-mortem.

  He nodded enthusiastically as DS Short reported all of this to him and Chandler in the main operations area, whilst other team members worked the phones and computers in the background.

  ‘If the victim is our missing RAF officer, there should be good dental records to ID him by if the teeth survived,’ Short went on. ‘Other than that, we’d be looking to X-ray records or DNA – and let’s hope it doesn’t come to that or we could be dragging our heels for days or even weeks. DNA results on fire victims can be very patchy and difficult to acquire.’

  ‘DI Bishop called in from the hospital to say the pathologist confirmed the deceased as a male, boss,’ Hunt said.

  ‘And there are no additional reported mispers, either,’ Short chipped in.

  ‘Thanks.’ Bliss ran a hand over his face as he considered how to get a read on the case. ‘Try and get me and DS Chandler into Wittering tomorrow morning, would you, please? In the absence of any firm direction I think we have to follow our noses at the moment, and run with the idea that our victim is this missing logistics expert. I will want to speak with anyone who was with him last night, plus his immediate superior on the base. Also, find out for me if the barmaid our man was keen on is working tonight or tomorrow. Thank you, Sergeant.’

  ‘Will do, boss. But just to confirm, the airman did not spend the night with her.’

  Bliss nodded, then turned to Chandler and raised his eyes. ‘What d’you think now?’

  ‘That you’re probably right about it being him. I didn’t know that about how long a body will burn for, so that was a good catch regards our time window.’

  Bliss laughed. ‘I was bluffing. I don’t think I’m far wrong, but I lied because I thought they were hiding something.’

  ‘Remind me never to play poker with you. That Cogger crumbled like a baseless warrant. We need that ID as quickly as possible, though. No way we can establish a firm reference point without it. And I’m also now really interested to know what that CCTV footage is going to show us.’

  �
��Yeah, don’t hold your breath on that, though.’ Bliss turned back to Hunt. ‘Any word from the company whose security footage we want?’

  ‘Still waiting, boss.’

  ‘Well chase them up! We need that video.’

  Hunt grimaced and made a note on a pad. ‘Will do. The land belongs to Korna Chemicals. I spoke with the site manager, who told me he would happily pass it over to us, but they have to go through their legal department first as it’s a chemical plant and there are all kinds of multi-national concerns. It’ll probably have to be referred back to their HQ in Sweden before we get a firm answer.’

  ‘Okay. Call them as soon as we’re done here. When you do, ask them to keep safe any footage from that road-facing camera in the hours from midnight until the body was discovered. We don’t want to risk it being overwritten while they go through channels.’

  He turned away, leaving his instruction hanging in the air. He’d been curt with Hunt, but was becoming increasingly impatient with the DC. It was one thing being decent at your job, but Bliss needed more from him. It wasn’t enough for Hunt to perform well when asked, he also had to demonstrate some initiative. So far that key component was lacking, and Bliss wondered what else he might do to motivate the young detective.

  Bliss left Chandler with the team while he headed back to his office. The room was hardly any bigger than the interview room they had used earlier, and Bliss had a way of working that made it feel smaller still. ‘Cosy’ was the word he most often used to describe it, though when feeling less charitable it usually became ‘poky’ instead. It was pretty much a cupboard with windows. Sitting back in his chair, fingers steepled to support his chin, he felt he had everything in hand, given the paucity of facts at his disposal. DCI Edwards would undoubtedly chew him out when she discovered he had pushed physical resources into searching for a specific individual before they had even identified the body, especially as he had requested assistance from the RAF to do so. Yet speed was of the essence, and he had no qualms about fighting her on it even if – as he believed – the search would prove futile. To Bliss’s mind, RAF officer Duncan Livingston had been burned alive and was currently residing in the mortuary at the Peterborough city hospital.

  He tried hard to focus on the possible drugs connection. Bliss was pretty sure that RAF employees had to undergo random drug testing, but that could simply mean the officer was a dealer rather than a user. Much more likely, in fact, given the punishment meted out. Peterborough was like any other city, in that it had its fair share of drugs-related crime. Nothing outrageous, but neither was it anywhere close to being under control. Behind the vast majority of local trade were organised crime gangs, who were also more likely than not to be running prostitution rings as well. One or two in recent years had been infiltrated and broken, but as with nature, the drugs trade abhors a vacuum, and for every gang torn apart, two more ooze out from between the cracks in the structure they leave behind.

  Having returned to Peterborough less than six months ago, Bliss was not as familiar with the local OC as he would have liked. His work for first the Serious and Organised Crime Agency, and then the National Crime Agency, had provided him with a deep insight into the business. Gangland hits were not commonplace, but when they occurred they were often messy and hugely violent affairs, and those associated with drugs seemed to draw the worst out of offenders. It was nothing for hacked-off limbs to be discovered, bodies found being deconstructed in a barrel of acid, or stuffed into vehicles crushed in breakers’ yards. This necklacing methodology was new to Bliss, but it was not exactly out of line with hits he had worked in the past. It was an age-old crime with age-old solutions to age-old problems.

  5

  Bliss was back on his computer checking the case log when the desk phone rang. The caller announced himself as Flight Lieutenant Garth Holbrook.

  ‘I am Flying Officer Livingston’s day-to-day supervisor,’ the RAF officer explained. He had a young-sounding voice, with the slightest hint of a Welsh accent. ‘First, Inspector, I would like to thank you for the search party you organised. I’m not quite sure what outcome I’m hoping for, but given Duncan’s record here I have to admit to my concern at his prolonged absence. Officially he is AWOL, of course, though until forty-eight hours has expired it’s by no means the most serious of matters. I’ve only just learned that you have a murder victim and that a request has been made for FO Livingston’s dental records.’

  Bliss was pleased to hear that Holbrook wasn’t looking to screw his subordinate. Some people of rank had no problem scrubbing away an underling in the same way they might a stain in case a misdemeanour reflected badly on them and tainted their own career. It sounded like Holbrook was a solid leader.

  ‘Like you, Flight Lieutenant, we’re all hoping Mr Livingston walks back through your door with some tough explaining to do. Of course, that would still leave us with a murder victim to identify, but at least it’ll be one that won’t involve mountains of red tape and bureaucratic protocol.’

  ‘Quite so. Either way, it’s a ghastly matter and someone’s terrible loss. As for Duncan’s absence from duty, I can tell you without fear of contradiction that he has no obvious reason not to be on duty today, and nor was he unhappy here. To the contrary, Inspector Bliss, he was energised and looking forward to taking his career to the next stage. As for your proposed visit tomorrow, the RAFP have been advised of your request and will ensure that any friends who were at the pub with Duncan last night are made available to you for interview. The first can be available at ten-thirty, and I’m happy to speak with you first if you can be here by ten.’

  The RAF had their own police officers stationed on every base, and Bliss knew they took their job every bit as seriously as those in the regular UK service. Holbrook had sounded almost deferential when mentioning them, and certainly they had a fine reputation. Bliss informed Holbrook that he and Chandler would arrive at the base at around 9.55am. Sensing some traction at last – albeit entirely focussed on a decent possibility rather than a certainty – Bliss rejoined his team in the operations area. As with the incident room, this large open-plan office space had recently been refurbished, most of the office equipment having been replaced. Each desk formed its own L-shaped pod, with four-foot high boards separating individual desks in each row. Glancing around, Bliss noticed that both Carmichael and Ansari were back at their bases. Bliss stopped by the young woman’s side of the room first.

  ‘How are you doing, Constable?’ he asked, injecting some levity into his voice. ‘Did you prove to be a fainter or an upchucker at the post-mortem?’

  Ansari looked up at him with eyes that already appeared older and wiser than they had been earlier in the day. She grimaced and said, ‘Both, I’m sad to say, boss. I thought I was made of sterner stuff.’

  ‘I won the betting pool,’ Short called out, a huge grin splitting her perfect features. She waved a handful of banknotes at him.

  ‘There’s sisterhood for you,’ Hunt said, putting a hand over the phone he had resting by his ear. ‘Mia was the only one who had Gul down for both passing out and blowing chunks.’

  Short lobbed a pen at him and flapped the cash harder still, her grin becoming devilish. Her colleague made to return fire with a stapler, but failed to release his weapon as his arm followed through.

  ‘Next time, Barbie,’ he threatened. ‘Next time.’

  ‘There won’t be a next time if you call her Barbie again,’ Chandler said. ‘I’ve seen Mia skewer bigger and better men than you for far less.’

  Short affected a mock curtsey, and followed by striking a pose in which she flexed her muscles.

  Bliss laughed along with the rest of the team. During his absence from the area, Short had married a solicitor with whom she’d had two children. He knew her winnings would be spent on the twins, and he was happy for her. Turning back to meet Ansari’s doe-eyed gaze, Bliss chuckled as he recalled his own baptism in the bloody waters of post-mortems. There was a time when he would have laid a
comforting hand on the young constable’s shoulder, but these days that physical act of empathy was just asking for trouble. Much to his chagrin.

  ‘Pay them no attention, Constable. And don’t you worry about it. We’ve all been there, but very few of us kick off with a victim who has been torched. That’s two horrors for the price of one.’

  ‘It was gruesome.’ Ansari looked as if she might be about to dash for the closest toilet in order to hurl for a second time that day. ‘But it’s another procedure ticked off the list.’

  ‘Good way to look at it. Was it also informative?’

  ‘On a personal level it was, boss. It’s never going to be a part of the job I’ll get used to, but I can see how useful it is in our investigation. We left without an ID, though I’m afraid.’

  ‘No problem, I expected as much. Good to see you survived, anyhow. I’ll check on your PM partner now.’

  Carmichael, who was in the midst of studying for his sergeant’s exams, was fairly laid back about the whole process. Whilst it was only his second burns victim, he had attended several post-mortems in his time at Thorpe Wood.

  ‘Nancy reckons we might get lucky on two fronts,’ Carmichael revealed. Nancy Drinkwater was the city pathologist, and as a favour to major crimes had bumped up their victim in order of priority to ensure the most rapid turnaround possible. ‘First, a dental records ID is looking good, as enough remained of the jaw to provide a decent set of X-rays. Second, she reckons she may be able to unearth what looks like a tattoo on the vic’s left upper arm.’

  ‘That sounds like a positive step forward,’ Bliss said, nodding enthusiastically. ‘Did she give any clue as to how long they might take?’

  ‘Dental probably later this evening or at worst first thing tomorrow. Tattoo will be a more lengthy procedure if her initial tests pan out. If they don’t, she’ll drop me a mail to let me know it’s a no-go.’

  ‘Good. Well done.’ They’d caught a break on the issue of dental records. Bliss knew that enamel was hard to break down, but in many cases where a victim has been burned so intensely, the jaw can just fall away and crumble to dust. Individual teeth could still provide a potential route to identification in those circumstances, but matching an entire complete X-ray was still far more favourable, and considerably less time-consuming.