If Fear Wins (DI Bliss Book 3)

by Tony J. Forder

  The gap between them had become a chasm. Bliss knew there would be no bridging it, even before Burton spoke again. ‘Jimmy, I’m sorry you feel that way. I hope that one day you will reconsider. Until then… I think it best we each find company elsewhere.’

  ‘If that’s the way you want it. One more thing, what was that crack about me and Penny? There’s nothing going on between us, Angie. We’re partners. That’s it.’

  ‘Really? Would you have risked your own life for any other member of your team the way you did for her last year?’

  ‘In a heartbeat.’

  ‘I’m not so sure. Jimmy, you put yourself in great danger. Maybe you need to ask yourself if you really would have done that for anyone else.’

  ‘I don’t have to ask. That’s what I’m trying to tell you, what you seem incapable of understanding. If it had been Bishop, Short, you, or even a member of the public, I would have done exactly the same thing. You want to know why? Because I didn’t think about it. I didn’t consider the risks. Maybe if I had I wouldn’t have even done it for Penny.’

  ‘Or maybe you only did it without thinking because it was Penny.’

  Bliss let that hang out there between them for a moment. Angie was wrong. He was convinced that given the exact same circumstances, with someone else standing there on the edge of the cliff with Malcolm Thompson, he would still have intervened. Chandler was his partner and friend. That was it.

  ‘You’re wrong about me,’ he said finally. ‘About me and Pen.’

  Angie sighed. ‘Keep telling yourself that, Jimmy. I hope it’s true. Just make sure you don’t ever regret it.’

  He ended the call and breathed deeply. He would mend fences with Burton as a colleague, but they were done as a couple. Not that they had ever truly regarded themselves as such. He drew a line under it. No harm, no foul. They had both accepted their commitment to each other as an unenduring moment in time. That time now appeared to be over. Bliss nodded to himself and went in search of his team.

  The incident room was as full as Bliss had ever seen it. He had issued an e-mail insisting that everyone who was able to stand and/or breathe without assistance had to attend, as there were major questions to both ask and answer concerning their case. What he had not reckoned on was the appearance of both DCI Edwards and the Superintendent herself. They stood side by side at the back of the room. Bliss felt as if he had stepped into a colosseum, though he was unsure whether that made him the lion or its prey and from whom the thumbs down might come.

  The room reverberated to a low hubbub of voices, which increased the longer Bliss took to get his thoughts in some semblance of order. He realised that what he was about to tell the team would appear to take them a full step backwards if he was proven correct, but as far as he was concerned it was a step in the right direction.

  ‘Thank you all for coming!’ he called out, raising both hands and then lowering them slowly to indicate a request for silence. He grinned and added, ‘Not that I gave the majority of you much of an option. However, I think by the time I’m done you will agree with me that we have reached a critical juncture when it comes to Operation Compound, and it is vital that each of us knows exactly where things stand.’

  Bliss took a sip of water before continuing, a little unsettled at how anxious he felt. This was a big moment for both himself and his team. If he got it wrong, they would survive but he might not. Whilst he and Chandler had been up in York talking with the victim’s parents, DS Bishop had taken charge of the rest of the squad to delve deeper into the van, their potential terrorists, local links to extremist organisations, and all whilst attempting to keep a lid on everything so that further leaks were avoided. Especially to the media. Now Bliss was about to puncture their bubbles, and he took no pleasure from it.

  ‘Okay, here it is,’ he said. ‘Initial CCTV evidence which suggested that the murder of airman Duncan Livingston was an act of terrorism, may have been concocted for that very reason – to lead our investigation to that conclusion and away from the truth.’

  The explosion of voices was immediate, and Bliss fought hard for a full thirty seconds to bring the briefing back under his control. He went on to inform them of his discovery back at the crime scene, laid it all out for them as to how the apparent coincidences may not have been quite so coincidental after all. Bliss studied their faces all the way through, and saw both doubt and dismay on each of them.

  ‘Let me be very clear,’ he said. ‘At this point I am not ruling out terrorism. I’m not even fully convinced of it myself right now. However, I think if you were all to analyse the security footage and assess the SOC for yourselves, you would also conclude – as I have done – that there is ample room for doubt. I can’t lead you all by the hand, so ask yourselves this: how likely is it that this van would stop in pretty much the only location on that road where it could be seen by a single specific camera, which was only able to provide an unobstructed view due to branches having been either broken or bent backwards, and that one of the men responsible for murdering our victim happened to dislodge his scarf enough that we could identify the exact words he was chanting?’

  ‘Unlikely, but still possible, surely?’ DC Hunt said.

  ‘Absolutely. I’ve already said we are not ruling it out entirely. We will still investigate that angle. The difference being that we will also be looking at it from the viewpoint that it could have been staged.’

  ‘But why?’ Ansari asked. ‘Why would these men go to such lengths? Just to stir up hatred?’

  Bliss shook his head. He wondered what the Super and DCI were making of this, but he did not have either the time or inclination to pander to them. ‘No, I don’t think that was their aim. The purpose, I believe, was simply to point us in the wrong direction. Their intention was to kill Livingston, but in order to lead us down one particular investigative path they gave us a trio of terrorists. While we’re looking in that direction, they are having it on their toes the opposite way. A sleight of hand, if you prefer.’

  The sea of faces was now mostly nodding rather than shaking, as the possibilities seeped in. Open minds were key in solving cases as complex as this one was proving to be, and whilst Bliss understood that his team would be disappointed to have their operation take such a major step back, they would also come to realise that the right way was the only way, and detours were simply obstacles to overcome.

  ‘Boss, I have a question,’ DS Short said. As ever, her eyes were narrowed in concentration. ‘If the intention was for us to discover that security footage, why leave it to chance?’

  Bliss was prepared for that particular line of thought. ‘For their ruse to work it could be neither obvious nor entirely hidden. The camera was not an easy find, but it was definitely something a thorough investigation of the crime scene and surrounding area would uncover eventually.’

  He paused. There was some mild chatter between officers. Fletcher and Edwards were also deep in conversation, their heads close together. Bliss decided to call it quits whilst he was ahead. If he was ahead.

  ‘I’m going to let you all go now and have some time to think on it overnight,’ Bliss told them. ‘But let’s keep this positive thought to the fore: none of us would actually wish this to be an act of terrorism, with all the implications that dreadful scenario brings with it. If we can prove otherwise, then we can all rest a little easier.’

  ‘Just so long as we don’t get it wrong and get hit by another one,’ a uniform chipped in. ‘I understand why the city might not want this to be terror-based, boss, but neither should we ignore it simply in order not to tread on the toes of certain members of the community.’

  There were a few murmurs of agreement with this point of view. Bliss gave a couple of sharp nods before responding. ‘I understand what you’re saying, Constable Lee. Believe me when I tell you that if I become convinced that terror lies at the root of this, I will go after these people with everything I have irrespective of who tries to get in my way. Over them, around th
em, even through them. I believe I’ve earned your trust on that. Equally, whilst the evidence currently suggests a terror link, I now believe that evidence to be potentially unsafe. I can’t ignore that, I’m sure you will agree. Tomorrow, I will assign a small team to go back over the footage and to also revisit the SOC as I did today. I will discuss everything with DCI Edwards, as well as whoever visits us from MI5 and the Counter-Terrorism Unit. I would hope that a clear strategy will present itself by lunchtime tomorrow, or by evening briefing at the latest. That is all.’

  As the room emptied, both Fletcher and Edwards moved against the tide and made their way towards Bliss. Chandler stood by his side, supportive as always. Though she may not necessarily agree with his theory, Bliss was comforted by the knowledge that his partner would stand as one with him.

  ‘You made some good points, Inspector,’ Fletcher told him. Her tone was neutral, features impassive. The Super seldom gave anything away when it came to body language. ‘Last night you requested twenty-four hours. In your estimation, do you have enough to request a further delay in releasing what we know right now, rather than what we suspect?’

  ‘I think making the call now, ma’am, would be unwise. I believe the alternative theory I have put forward merits further investigation. I fully accept that we are extremely unlikely to have a definitive answer by this time tomorrow, because in order to do so we would have to have located the three men concerned, interrogated them, and have received positive answers. That’s not going to happen. However, if we reach a consensus that my theory is equally valid, then the right thing to do is hold back on releasing what we have.’

  ‘And when it leaks and we look both incompetent and, worse still, liars?’ Edwards said, arms folded beneath her chest. ‘You really think this will hold water another day?’

  Bliss took a beat. Ever the politician, the DCI was hedging her bets and thinking of number one. He shook his head and said, ‘You know me, boss. I’m not the one who cares about public opinion, I care only about getting the job done and getting it done right. It is my belief that the right thing to do here is hold back on the whole terrorism angle until my theory is ruled out. If the media blow that, then so be it. Let them be the ones to do the wrong thing.’

  ‘And we get caught up in the maelstrom. They would have a field day at our expense.’

  ‘Again, boss, that’s not my department. My job is to steer the investigation in the right direction, and to do that we have to consider every single aspect of the case.’

  ‘Let’s leave it be for tonight,’ Fletcher suggested, stepping in to defuse the situation before it became a fully-blown argument. ‘I will speak to our MP and community leader and apprise them of the possible turn in the case. I suspect they will be relieved not to have to step out into the media glare.’

  Bliss knew Edwards would be seething. That was something he had become accustomed to. He was being given time by Fletcher. Now what he had to do was make the best use of it.

  The moment he and Chandler had the room to themselves, Bliss turned to her. ‘Thank you for waiting with me. It was obvious from the muted voices and dispirited looks that the team are uncertain following that briefing. I’m confident I can reel them back in, but it helps having you by my side.’

  Chandler nodded. ‘Always. You okay, boss? You seem a little distracted.’

  Bliss thought about his conversation with Edwards, followed by the disagreement with Burton. His partner was right. Both were distractions, neither of which he needed right now.

  19

  Bliss sat in the back garden listening to Jeff Beck make those long, deceptive bends as he worked his way through ‘Goodbye Pork Pie Hat’ from the ‘Wired’ album. Appreciating how much Beck got out of that scrap of wood, a set of six strings and a couple of electronic pickups, made him realise that it had been so long since he had even taken his own guitar out of its case that he might as well consider himself to now be an ex-guitarist. It was a chastening thought, one that made Bliss feel as if he had lost something significant from his life.

  Time was something other people had in which to ensure that they did more than merely exist. Bliss recalled his conversation with Lennie Kaplan. He had mentioned having his music and his movies and his garden to come home to. The truth was, these days he seldom even switched on the TV, music had become little more than a background to his obsession with his work, and he continually had to force himself away from investigations to snatch a few minutes in the garden. One by one, the things that made him human were dribbling away, and Bliss worried that the remaining husk would be incapable of functioning out in the real world.

  He and Chandler had grabbed some food on the way to him dropping her home. Sub-Express made a great Mesquite chicken sandwich, and Chandler enjoyed their pizzas. They used the meal time to catch up on other things. Bliss sensed his friend was as indifferent to Marjory Thompson’s suicide as he was. Her own pain lay in an ongoing case to find her teenage daughter, the girl abducted many years ago by her Turkish father and subsequently relocated. Bliss had done his best to encourage the Home Office to do more on Chandler’s behalf, but their reach was insignificant in Turkey, and no one was sure if the girl was even still residing there. Chandler’s family had rallied around, and were a close-knit unit. Still, there was that loss, and Bliss was aware that nothing could possibly fill the void. It ate away at his friend and colleague like a cancer, but he was determined that it would not end her.

  Bliss enjoyed these infrequent chats with Chandler. They could often be intimate and deep, prying into the darker recesses of each other’s lives. Yet, for him at least, they were also cathartic, a balm to the wounds inflicted by the investigation and the pressure from their DCI. Chandler’s earlier irritation with him had all but vanished. At one point she even attempted to squeeze some juicy gossip out of him.

  ‘So, a little bird tells me that you and a certain DI from the sex crimes unit have been making the beast with two backs.’ Chandler said it in such a nonchalant way that Bliss considered teasing her a little. But the phrase she had used put him off.

  ‘I hate that euphemism. If your little bird or the office jungle drums or even the bloody grapevine are implying that I have been seeing Angie Burton, then they are all correct.’

  Chandler beamed at him. ‘I knew it! I’m so pleased for you, boss.’

  He shook his head. ‘Don’t get carried away. It’s already over. If it had ever really begun. We hooked up when we could. It was going nowhere, just a bit of fun. She has two kids who were not looking for a surrogate father, Angie was not interested in any long-term commitment, all of which suited me perfectly.’

  ‘So… what, you were friends with benefits?’

  ‘Another saying I don’t much care for. How about we were two people who sought each other out when we wanted to? What’s wrong with that?’

  Chandler inverted a triangle of pizza and fed it into her mouth, thin strings of cheese hanging like cotton and adhering to her chin. She chewed on it for a moment, then swallowed it down. ‘Nothing. Nothing at all. I was glad you had someone, that’s all. I mean, I’m still the spinster cat-lady unable to bounce back from an affair with my old boss, but I can still be happy when my friends are happy.’

  ‘Who said anything about being happy?’

  Chandler picked up another slice and laughed. ‘Trust you. Getting your end away with a nice woman like Angie, with absolutely no ties and no expectations of any, and still you’re not satisfied.’

  Bliss grinned. ‘Oh, I was satisfied. Believe me. But you know me, Pen. Better than anybody. When am I ever truly happy?’

  ‘When you’re nicking villains.’

  ‘Well, there is that.’

  ‘So you and Angie are over. What happened?’

  Between mouthfuls of his warm, crusty toasted sandwich, Bliss went over his earlier conversation with Burton. He knew there would be no judgement from his partner on the subject of pity for such a vicious and ugly criminal as Marjory Thompso
n. Chandler shared his views on the subject.

  There was a slight pause before she said, ‘She’ll come around. You two will be fine. You know, people still wonder about us. You and me.’

  Bliss recalled Los Angeles detective Robbie Newman suggesting the same thing having spent only a few days with them on the Thompson-Delaney case. He was not at all certain they had managed to convince her that there was nothing going on between them.

  ‘Why ruin a beautiful friendship, eh?’ he said, meeting Chandler’s direct gaze.

  She nodded. ‘Indeed. That’s a good enough reason. Well, that and… you know, you’re really old.’

  ‘Can’t argue with that. But thanks for the reminder.’ He chuckled and let it slide.

  By the time he waved her goodnight and started for home, Bliss was in a sombre, contemplative mood.

  The bench he perched on, whilst sucking on the fat neck of an ice-cold bottle of Budvar, was the only object that looked out of place in the serene garden. Its wood, now grey and brittle, beaten by both weather and time, bore a brass plaque on its central horizontal slat. The park bench had been passed down to Bliss upon his father’s death a couple of years back. Wounded in World War II, Bliss’s grandfather had become a spy, who ran a dozen ops in France helping the resistance. Upon his death, the bench had been donated by a grateful nation, and for a time had rested in Coronation Gardens park in Leyton, east-London, just a few hundred yards from where the man was born and raised. The name engraved on the brass plaque read EDWARD BLISS. Beneath that another line: British hero and true friend to the nation of France.

  Bliss’s father had decided that, rather than keep the bench treated and polished and maintained, it should be allowed to wear down with the passing of time. Bliss had continued to allow it to grow old gracefully, in the way the man to whom it was dedicated had never been given the opportunity to do. Tonight was the very first time he had sat on it. It made him feel relaxed, if a little melancholy.