If Fear Wins (DI Bliss Book 3)

by Tony J. Forder

  ‘When are the media going to realise that we can’t be fixated on the case twenty-four-seven, whilst pandering to their every whim at the same time?’

  ‘Never. Because we live in exactly that sort of society these days, Pen. A twenty-four hour news cycle to fill, online feeds to update, bloggers to beat to the punch. The last thing any of them care about is the result. It’s the frenzy of the hunt for news, not who did what and why.’

  Chandler laughed. ‘And I thought my views were jaundiced.’

  ‘You know me and journos, Pen. All over me like a rash when they thought I was fucking up, but when I came out on top they didn’t want to know. I detest them.’

  ‘Not all, surely. You must have got on with a few when you were with SOCA and the NCA.’

  ‘That’s true. But they were a different breed entirely. The ones you’ll see sniffing around this case are looking for a story. The ones I dealt with during that period away from murder squads were looking for the truth. It’s funny, but the more time they have to fill and the more hours they have to compete, the media seem less and less keen on spending a little chunk of it telling the truth. Doesn’t sell advertising space, I guess.’

  ‘You’ve not done a media briefing since you walked out on that one last year, have you?’

  ‘No. And I won’t be doing one again before retirement day, I hope.’

  ‘So do the journos, probably.’

  ‘Don’t you believe it. Even my walking out on them was something to report. Because it was a negative thing. Now, negative does sell advertising space.’

  Chandler’s phone rang. It was Bishop. Their expert had arrived. They quickly finished their drinks then made their way back to Tech-Ops.

  Julie Barnes was the lip-reader who had driven down from Lincoln. Bliss knew Barnes to be in her early sixties, but she stood straight, moved fluidly, and might easily have passed for a woman ten years younger. They had met during his first year in Peterborough, on another case where CCTV footage featured prominently.

  ‘What you are about to see is harrowing,’ Bliss told Barnes after the greetings and introductions were over. ‘We are going to keep it short, and our tech gurus have edited the footage so that much of the background is obscured. Even so, you will get the gist of what was going on and I have no doubt you will be sickened by it. I apologise for that in advance.’

  After explaining in greater detail the background to what would be shown on the sequence, Bliss gave Bishop the nod to get on with it. At Barnes’s request the lights in the room were extinguished, providing her with the screen as the only source of stimulus.

  The Tech-Ops people had done a great job with the clip. That which could not be obfuscated had been pixelated, and only for a brief moment was it clear that a writhing body had been set alight. What stood out were the faces of all three perpetrators, and the exposed mouth of one in particular. At this point, Bliss noticed something he had missed during the first viewing. He thought about what it might mean, but kept it to himself. Barnes asked for the film to be run three more times. After the fourth, she nodded and asked for the lights to be put on again.

  ‘That was something I won’t forget in a hurry,’ Barnes said, her cheeks pinched and pale. ‘I thank you for obscuring that as much as possible.’

  ‘Not at all. I wouldn’t wish to subject you to the full impact of that film. Were you able to tell what they were shouting out?’ Bliss asked her.

  ‘Oh yes. The one whose mouth became exposed I was able to read very clearly indeed, and to a lesser extent the other two as well despite scarves obscuring the lower half of their faces. I have to confess that, to a certain degree, I wish I had been unable to. All three chanted the same phrase on several occasions. I’m confident of that. It’s a phrase we are all sadly familiar with these days, I’m afraid.’

  Bliss closed his eyes. He knew. His pulse quickened and he felt his throat squeeze tight. He had feared precisely this. Despite his initial impressions, it was not drug-related after all. It was so much worse.

  ‘Allahu Akbar,’ he muttered.

  Barnes turned to him, eyes wide and clearly taken by surprise that he had guessed correctly. She gave a single nod of confirmation.

  ‘Jesus!’ Bishop said.

  Bliss gave a grim smile. ‘Close, Olly,’ he said softly. ‘Close.’

  13

  The incident room was virtually silent throughout the BBC news broadcast. In the item relating to the murder of RAF airman Livingston, they first showed excerpts from the media briefing, before segueing into a joint interview with Fletcher and Edwards. Bliss, Chandler, Short and Bishop watched the entire thing without comment. Only when the item moved on to another feature did Bliss swivel in his chair and turn to his colleagues.

  ‘Tell me what you’re thinking,’ he said, folding his arms across his chest.

  ‘You informed the Super and DCI about the lip-reader’s findings, yes?’ Bishop asked. He set his jaw, and his eyes narrowed.

  ‘I did.’

  ‘Then what I’m thinking is… well, actually, what I am wondering is, why did I just waste my time sitting through that homogenised bullshit interview on TV? Why are they not telling the truth? Why was there absolutely no mention of the terrorism angle?’

  ‘It was the agreed strategy,’ Bliss responded.

  ‘Agreed by whom? Did the RAF agree? Did the victim’s family agree? Did you, for that matter?’

  Bliss cleared his throat. ‘As a matter of fact, I did.’

  The stunned look on Bishop’s face told Bliss his DS could not have been more surprised had Bliss stood and slapped him around the face. Bishop’s subsequent look of fierce reproach compelled Bliss to explain himself further.

  ‘Look, I didn’t enter my update meeting with Fletcher intending on agreeing to any such plan of action. However, the Super did not think we had enough time to either confirm the lip-read with a second opinion, or consider a finely-tuned response to the obvious outrage and concern such an admission would have engendered. And she was right. You don’t label a murder as horrific as this one an act of terrorism without being one-hundred per cent certain. And neither do you do so without having fully briefed all of the many departments who will subsequently be involved, in addition to ascertaining the correct responses to loaded likely questions.’

  ‘But we are certain,’ Chandler argued. ‘We don’t need a second opinion.’

  ‘Perhaps not. But when it comes to this particular subject, we’re a very small cog in a very large machine. You must understand that there is a protocol for this sort of thing, and there was simply not enough time to enact it. Since my meeting, Fletcher has had to inform both MI5 and the Counter-Terrorism Unit in Cambridge. They want to spend time with this before releasing any confirmation of terrorist activity.’

  ‘Well, I never thought I would ever hear you of all people talking about protocol in the face of doing the right thing.’

  That stung Bliss. Especially coming from his closest friend. Bliss chewed on his bottom lip for a moment or two, collecting himself. He realised the tension within the room was heightened by the knowledge that terrorism seemed to have made its evil way onto their patch. Even so, there were times when following the rules was the most prudent course of action, and this was one of them.

  ‘I understand how you all feel. But it’s not as if we’re going to be hiding behind this forever. It’s a stalling tactic. Until we’re doubly certain. You have no idea how much shit is going to rain down on us, and from what height. Counter-Terrorism is the least of it, believe me. Dealing with MI5 is no laughing matter, and if you think our red tape is thick and wide, wait until you get to grips with theirs. Also, it’s not only officialdom we have to be wary of, it’s the reaction from the local community. All sides of the community. We don’t want to spark an incendiary reaction until we absolutely have to. Come on, people, you know me. If I genuinely believed this to be wrong I would say so.’

  Bliss glanced around at his colleagues. Judging by
their faces his words seemed to have done the trick. If there was any lingering dissent it was going unsaid for now. He decided to push on and broaden the discussion.

  ‘Let’s accept for the moment that our lip-reader is correct. Why here, why now, why Livingston?’

  ‘Remember that attempted abduction of an RAF serviceman at Marham?’ Short said, looking across at him through a concerned frown. ‘And then a little while later another possible attempt near Aldershot army barracks?’ She reached back to wrap an elastic band around her hair to form a ponytail. It was a mannerism she displayed when mentally setting the object of her focus; the equivalent to rolling up her sleeves. ‘What we have here is not an unheard of extremist move.’

  Bishop was nodding. ‘I remember the RAF Marham incident well. There was a real spike of racial tension out there on the streets for a week or so afterwards. Didn’t the investigators conclude in the end that was most likely a road rage incident instead, and so played down the possible terrorist link?’

  Short nodded. ‘They did. Not sure there were too many who believed them, though, Olly. A lot of servicemen and women, as well as fellow cops I have to say, reckon the RAF and county police decided it wouldn’t do to scare their people too much, especially in light of what happened to poor Lee Rigby a few years back.’

  ‘And here we are doing it all over again,’ Chandler chimed in. Her countenance had lost none of its indignation. ‘Whitewashing over something people have a right to know about.’

  ‘Cut it out, Sergeant,’ Bliss warned with an edge to his tone. Friend or not, Chandler was close to crossing a line. Her obvious indignation felt as if it was aimed squarely in his direction. He gave a disapproving shake of the head, hoping there was enough warning in his eyes for Chandler to both read and take notice of.

  It seemed not.

  Chandler got to her feet and stood with both hands on her hips. ‘I’m not saying anything we don’t all fundamentally agree on, boss. The Marham threat was genuine, and you know it. It was swept under the carpet.’

  ‘Which you know for a fact, do you?’

  ‘What I know for a fact is that the RAF officer was threatened with a knife by two men of Middle Eastern appearance, who attempted to bundle him into the back of a van, and when no one was traced it was dismissed as probable road rage and nobody refers to it anymore. Have you ever heard of a road rage incident that went that far? It stinks, and you know it, Inspector.’

  The use of his rank told Bliss exactly how angry Chandler was. He understood, could even empathise, but was not prepared to let her get away with her outburst entirely unscathed.

  He held up a hand, palm out. ‘That’s enough! Your outrage may not be intended for me, but it’s certainly being directed at me right now and is getting us nowhere. Let’s not wander off track here. What did or did not occur during that specific incident has nothing to do with this investigation into the murder of RAF officer Livingston.’

  ‘How can we know that?’

  ‘How can we know what?’

  ‘The two men who carried out the attack and near abduction were never found. What if this is them? Marham is what… fifty miles away? What happened here could quite easily be the same people, only this time they got what they came for. This time their target was torched and burned to death. What do you have to say about them dismissing the incident in those circumstances, boss?’

  If Chandler had not raised an interesting and valid point, Bliss’s own anger at her continuing to press him would have spilled over. Instead he nodded, wound his irritation back in and responded in a calm, even tone.

  ‘There are a lot of ifs and buts there, DS Chandler.’ He raised a hand to forestall another emotive eruption. ‘However, I take your point. Look, if I have failed to make it clear to you all, let me do so now. I am firmly on your side. If this is what we believe it to be, then I will be at the front of the queue looking to expose it as such. If this is what we believe it to be I can categorically guarantee that I will not allow it to be swept under the carpet, not whilst I am in charge. And therein lies the rub, because if this is what we believe it to be it is far bigger than you, Sergeant, bigger than me, bigger than everybody in this nick. We will not decide who gets to know the truth, but I can at least help to steer it in the right direction. What I am asking for here is your trust. Your faith in me, that I will do everything in my power to inform people. But only when all of the procedural ducks are in a row and we are prepared for the fallout. Deal?’

  There was not even a moment of pause. Only nods and ‘yes boss’s. Chandler included.

  ‘Right,’ Bliss said, grateful to have wrestled it back. ‘So let’s return to it. These days there are an awful lot of people in this country who disagree with our current or prior presence in various foreign lands and our role in any previous or on-going conflicts. Do any of you have knowledge of this having spilled over into confirmed threats against our armed forces locally?’

  Short nodded. She cut a diminutive figure, but when she spoke everybody listened. Bliss had initially thought this was because of how attractive she was. But having worked alongside her, he now understood that the real reason was because Short spoke in an authoritative manner that demanded attention.

  ‘Boss, I had to interview a couple of RAF cadets who were the victims of some verbal abuse from a bunch of young men they took to be from the Muslim community. At the time it seemed like a bit of bravado from the group, a show of anger in relation to what was happening in Syria and what had happened in both Iraq and Afghanistan. Those nations were mentioned specifically, and the term ‘Jihad’ was also overheard. Nothing physical, and by their own account the cadets were more angered by it than genuinely concerned for their safety.’

  ‘Angered by?’ Bliss prompted.

  Short glanced down at her feet, then back up again. ‘To be blunt, boss, they were angry at being hounded like that in their own country.’

  ‘They didn’t feel this might also be the country of the young men who barracked them? I mean, unless these cadets knew otherwise, it’s likely that the barrackers were born and raised here just as the barrackees were.’

  ‘I don’t believe they were thinking straight one way or the other at the time, boss. In my view they were shocked by what had happened, and were simply reacting to that.’

  ‘Hmm. Sounds to me as if they might just have harboured some less than tolerant views about these young Muslims.’

  ‘That may be the case. On the other hand, they didn’t see a great deal of tolerance aimed towards them, either. And I have to say, some assumptions are being made about them in retrospect right here and now.’

  Bliss frowned. ‘You sound as if you’re speaking up on their behalf, DS Short.’

  ‘Someone has to, boss. They are young men, too. They are doing what they believe in as well. To them it seemed a little unfair that their views were regarded as racially insensitive, while the views of the men taunting and harassing them in the first place, were politically legitimised.’

  ‘And there in a nutshell is a prime example of where this will eventually lead us,’ Bliss said, meeting the eyes of each of his colleagues in turn. ‘I understand both sides of the argument. The problem for many is that grey has been leeched out of the debate. Things have to be black or white, no room for nuance. Most debates on the subject begin with a plea of understanding, which is swiftly followed by the word ‘but’. And it is that word and everything that follows it that tells you everything you really need to know, not the bollocks that comes beforehand.’

  ‘I’m sorry, boss,’ Chandler said, retaking her seat. Absently she picked up a pen and then immediately threw it down again. ‘I mean for speaking out the way I did, not for my views on the whole Marham debate. I can see it’s a tough call to make. I can also understand why everybody wants to wait for final confirmation before lighting the touchpaper. It’s really a lose-lose situation for us.’

  It was. Bliss knew that whenever the investigation team released news
of the terrorist link it would be the wrong time. One group or another would claim it was too soon, whilst others would rail about the announcement coming far too late in the process. There would be political pressure applied, community and extremist groups would be up in arms, plus Bliss recognised the need to pacify members of his own team. The final decision was, for now, out of his hands. He doubted it ever really would be his to run with, and fully expected DCI Edwards to take over whichever aspects of the operation that were not handed across to MI5 and Counter-Terrorism as soon as they made their presence felt.

  He also sympathised with and admired Short’s stance on the subject of how the cadets had reacted to being taunted. Disrespecting the uniform and what it meant to those young men was never going to go down well. Bliss knew that when you wore a uniform there was an automatic sense of entitlement to respect for the service and work carried out on behalf of the public. Lapses in judgement on all sides were commonplace, however, and the negative reaction from the cadets was understandable. If not entirely acceptable.

  Bliss had little stomach to pursue the matter further, so he called a halt to the meeting and instructed the others to go home and rest up, ahead of what he expected to be a horrendously busy day. As his colleagues filed out of the incident room, Bliss checked his watch and remembered a conversation he needed to have.