When he was finished, he stood to one side and handed the briefing over to DCI Warburton. As the formal SIO, if she had issues with his case management, now was the time to raise them. Instead, she wished the team well and assured them of her best efforts in talking DI Riseborough’s bosses around if they balked at the idea of handing over their one genuine lead.
As the briefing broke up, Bishop cornered Bliss and asked for a quick word in private. Bliss had an idea what it was about, but he remained tight-lipped until the two were sitting at his desk, the office door closed.
‘I’m struggling, boss,’ Bishop said, getting straight to the point as usual. He moistened his lips and puffed out a long stream of air. ‘With the job, and with my home life. Struggling to cope. Two years on, and I still see her face everywhere I look.’
Bliss knew without asking who he meant: DS Mia Short. Shot dead as Bishop knelt beside her, his colleague’s blood and body matter strewn across his own face. Bliss bit into his bottom lip before responding, getting a grip on his own emotions. ‘Struggling with what, exactly, Bish? I’ve been keeping a close eye on my team – and you in particular – since Mia was killed. Granted, your overall demeanour has changed, but other than a couple of blow-ups, I’ve not seen any sign of you being unable to do your job. You don’t crack as many jokes as you used to, but still you raise the occasional laugh. How are things at home, between you and Kathy?’
The big man’s face crumpled, his bottom lip quivering. ‘Not great. I mean, it’s not as if she keeps telling me to snap out of it or anything. She’d never be so insensitive. She sympathises as best she can, but she’s not alone in thinking I should be over it by now.’
‘Who else does?’
‘Me. I do. I try, believe me. I had my sessions with the shrink, I did my mental exercises. And, yeah, there are days when I don’t allow myself to get despondent. But I come in here every morning and I see the desk where she should be sitting, and it slaps me around the face as if it’s the first day without her all over again.’
Bliss took a breath. He felt Mia’s loss acutely, of course but he had not been the one by her side when she lost her life. He would not be the one to forever remember scrubbing himself raw to cleanse himself of her blood and tissue and brain matter. Nor did he regard it as something you got over, not entirely. Yet not moving on from it gnawed away at your insides until they became raw all over again.
‘Do you need some time off?’ he asked. ‘I’ll sign on the dotted line right now if you want me to, Bish. Paid leave, trauma conditions. You took hardly any when it first happened. You’re due some on compassionate grounds. Overdue, if anything.’
His sergeant nodded, eyelids heavy and shoulders stooped. ‘I’ve thought about it. Perhaps getting away for a couple of weeks. But I wonder what I’m going to do with myself. If I’m not working, I’m just left with more time on my hands to think about her. So I come to work and I think about her anyway. And when I do consider going away with Kath and the kids, I wonder how that will make things better, because Mia is always with me no matter where I go or what I do. I feel trapped, boss. Am I making any sense?’
Bliss had reacted the same way following the murder of his wife, Hazel. Like Bishop, he had flared up on occasion afterwards, taking his misery out on others. His escape truly had been the job, whereas his colleague was reminded of his loss every working day. It made perfect sense.
‘You need a break, Olly – not just a leave of absence during which you sit and stare at the same four walls, but a genuine holiday. You and the family. Go somewhere you’ve never been before. Let your mind focus on something entirely new. Explore, walk, swim, ride a bike… anything but sit and dwell. Repair yourself, and do the same thing for your marriage while you’re at it. I think you need it, mate. I really do.’
Bishop nodded, blinking rapidly. ‘You can swing that for me, boss? The time off, I mean.’
‘Absolutely. Whatever you need.’
‘Is it okay by you if I see this case out first?’
‘No problem. Be glad to have you on board.’
The two men shook hands and regarded each other awkwardly before Bishop put his arms around Bliss and pulled him into a hug. ‘You’re a diamond, Jimmy Bliss,’ he whispered. When he stepped back, his eyes were moist.
Bliss slapped his sergeant’s arm. ‘Whatever you need, whenever you need it, Olly. I mean it. You don’t have to wait until we’re in the squad together. Call me, knock on my front door. I’m not being altruistic. You’re a decent man and a bloody great copper, and I don’t want to lose you.’
He waited ten minutes, composing himself, knowing Mia’s desk would draw his eyes the moment he walked back outside into the squad room. When it came to having a tough time moving on, Bishop was not alone.
‘So where do you and I start?’ Chandler asked him as he appeared, the room empty for the time being. She grinned. ‘I’m assuming you won’t be waiting for the go-ahead to trickle down from Bishopsgate before getting stuck in.’
Pleased to be thrown back in at the deep end, Bliss nodded. ‘You assume correctly. But we start with you telling me what the hell you thought you were doing last night.’
Chandler’s eyes brightened. ‘How did it go? Did you talk for long?’
‘I asked first, and I’d like an answer.’
‘Are you serious? What I did was a good thing.’
‘What you did was trample all over my personal life. Same thing you’ve been doing as long as I’ve known you. Pen, the conversations you and I have every so often are strictly confidential. You can’t go around using that information to set traps for me.’
Slumping into her chair, Chandler frowned and said, ‘How is it any different from what you do? I never asked you to get involved in my search for Anna, yet somehow you went as far as arranging for the security services to make enquiries with their Turkish counterparts.’
‘That was different,’ he insisted.
‘How so?’
‘Because it was impossible for you to resolve the situation on your own. It needed a nudge in the right direction. I was owed a favour, so I used it. And you certainly can’t complain about the outcome.’
‘No, and I’m nothing but grateful to you. But it’s not the outcome we’re talking about here. You’re having a pop at me for sticking my nose into your private life, but you did precisely the same thing to mine. The ends justify the means.’
Bliss let the silence hang between them. Chandler was right – yet again. ‘I was mortified when Emily came out of that pub door with you last night,’ he said finally. ‘I felt sick to my stomach. Do you have any idea what kind of position you put me in, Pen? I nearly walked away before you even reached our table.’
‘But you didn’t.’
‘No.’
‘And did things go better than you’d anticipated?’
His head became crammed with images and memories of the conversation he and Emily had enjoyed. At times it had been tough on him. Talking about his feelings was never something he enjoyed doing. But he knew Emily had cajoled Chandler into arranging the setup for a reason. She was determined to establish where their relationship might go provided they both wanted it enough.
‘It went well,’ he acknowledged grudgingly. ‘But it could so easily have gone the other way.’
‘But it didn’t, did it? And even if it had, at least you’d have known. You wouldn’t still be wondering if you’d done the right thing.’
Bliss smiled. ‘That’s exactly what Emily said.’
Chandler leaned forward, looking up at him expectantly, arms folded. ‘So, go on. Tell me every little detail, no matter how insignificant.’
‘Do I need to remind you this is a place of work, and we have plenty to do?’
‘If you happen to be a stuffed shirt in need of a personality bypass, then yes. Go ahead.’
He drew in
a deep breath. ‘Look, when we’re next on a break I’ll give you the broad strokes. They’ll have to do you.’
Chandler smirked. ‘There were broad strokes, were there?’
‘Not funny,’ he said, though he was struggling not to laugh.
‘Just tell me one thing.’
‘Okay. One.’
‘Are you seeing her again?’
Bliss gave it enough of a pause to infuriate her. ‘Emily and I are having a meal on Saturday evening.’
Chandler slapped her hands together and began rubbing them. Her face beamed. ‘Just call me Cupid,’ she said, unable to contain her joy.
As he calmed her down with hand gestures, Bliss tried to remind Chandler he was still angry with her for having sandbagged him. But his heart was no longer in it, and he could tell she knew. ‘Let’s forget about it for now,’ he said. ‘Serious faces on, Pen. It’s time we got cracking on Tommy Harrison.’
Fifteen
An illegitimate son of a copper so bent he was called the ‘Fishhook’, Thomas Harrison was the result of a brief assignation with a good-time girl from Hoxton. After spending his first year in care, Tommy eventually grew up on the same estate where the Price family lived. He was known to adore his mother, for all her many deficiencies, and he was fiercely protective of the woman and her reputation. The regular teasing he endured as a child helped forge his ability with both fists – and his forehead, whenever it was needed.
Not an exceptionally big lad, he was nonetheless a scrapper with a temper and a chip on each shoulder. Those who elected to torment him with disparaging remarks about his mother’s way of earning a living seldom did so twice. Occasionally, Tommy took things too far; the beatings he administered went on too long, their results far more catastrophic than strictly necessary. Many observers believed he enjoyed inflicting pain, which served to enhance his reputation. To goad the man he became was to invite punishment of the kind that often resulted in a lengthy hospital stay, eating liquefied food through a straw.
Bliss had gleaned the details from the records he’d printed out before leaving the office, and filled out the rest using his imagination. He read them as Chandler drove south, relaying relevant snippets to her while she tutted about his continued reliance on hard copies rather than technology. An hour and forty minutes after leaving HQ, they pulled up outside Tommy Harrison’s sprawling mock-Tudor pile, which backed on to a golf course. Alongside a shiny new Range Rover stood an Essex police Volvo. Bliss had called ahead to have a patrol crew make the first knock and to keep whoever answered on site until he and Chandler arrived.
One crew member exited the patrol vehicle as the two detectives piled out of the Focus. He nodded and smiled by way of a greeting, using a hand to shield his eyes from the sun. ‘My sergeant is inside the house,’ he told them. ‘Tommy’s wife answered our knock. She called in her daughter and son-in-law for backup.’
‘That their Range Rover?’ Bliss asked, cocking a thumb in its direction.
‘Yes, sir. The wife’s motor is in the garage. No sign of Tommy’s.’
Bliss appraised the young officer, picking up on something. ‘You keep referring to him by his first name. You were familiar with the man, I take it.’
‘Were?’ The officer’s squint narrowed further.
‘Slip of the tongue. But you do know him, yes?’
‘We all do in this neck of the woods. If you don’t get to encounter the man in person at some point, you certainly get to hear about him.’
‘Bit of a wild one, is he?’
‘Mad as a box of frogs, sir. One of the few men I’ve ever met who truly does not give a shit.’
Chandler chuckled. ‘Now’s your chance to meet another one,’ she said, inclining her head towards her boss.
Bliss ignored her, and the junior constable’s choice use of language. ‘So, what does the family think is going on?’
‘They’re used to it, sir. Our presence, I mean. All the wife keeps asking is what her old man is supposed to have done now.’
Intrigued, Bliss thought about the possibilities. They had no idea when Tommy Harrison was taken, but his hand had been removed from its wrist sometime early on Monday morning. At least one night away from home therefore seemed likely. Yet his wife was apparently unconcerned by his absence.
Inside the large house, the patrol sergeant had a quick word with them both. He had been unable to answer the family’s many questions, his instructions having been merely to keep Mrs Harrison indoors awaiting two detectives from Peterborough, with no additional explanation. His sense of the situation was that none of them were hiding anything, nor were they overly concerned by Harrison’s absence.
Bliss offered his thanks and asked him to wait outside the house as backup. He entered the living room and introduced himself and Chandler to the family. Tommy’s wife, Vicki, was a blowsy woman whose unkempt appearance was at odds with her pristine and luxurious home. Everything inside looked as if it were glowing, radiating cleanliness, with a showroom sheen to it all. It smelled fresh, too. Bliss wondered if the Harrisons employed a housekeeper, but thought it best not to enquire.
‘Mrs Harrison,’ he began. ‘When did you last see your husband?’
‘Saturday evening,’ she replied smartly. ‘And don’t ask me where he was going, because I don’t know.’
‘That’s true,’ the daughter chimed in. ‘I was here when Dad went out, and Mum gave him pelters.’
Bliss knew she meant her mother and father had argued, and that her mother had been verbally abusive towards him. ‘So why did he go out?’ he asked, looking back at Mrs Harrison.
She wore a grey lounge suit, at least one size too small and bearing stains suggesting it hadn’t been washed for a while. ‘I assumed he was on a job with that bunch of lunatics he still hangs around with.’
‘A job?’ Chandler said, her head popping up.
‘Yeah. Look, the local filth know who and what Tommy is. Me and him have a don’t ask, don’t tell policy. As long as he provides, I don’t need to know where the dosh comes from. I gave him earache about it this time because we’d agreed he was out of the game and was going to spend more time with me.’
Poor sod, Bliss thought. ‘So you suspected Tommy was up to no good. Yet you weren’t concerned when he failed to come home for the past three nights.’
She shrugged and her face became a petulant scowl. ‘It goes like that sometimes. If they were planning something heavy, they’d often take off together for days at a time.’
‘Without telling you where?’
‘Well, dur. Defeats the object when you lot come calling to ask about him if I know where he is, don’t it?’
Nobody offered them a seat, but Bliss took one anyway. Chandler remained standing by his side. He worked his way past Mrs Harrison’s innate dislike of the police and began to probe into her husband’s background and recent activity. The defensive wall she threw up was impressive. Bliss figured he’d penetrate it in time, but he moved on to asking about Tommy’s acquaintances. Her earlier outburst had felt sincere, and he sensed a genuine antipathy towards her husband’s friends. It felt like easier ground to cover, and might be more productive.
As it proved to be. She willingly produced a list of names and contact details. In her words, if any of the men she had named were also missing from home, they were bound to be with her husband. Bliss was pleased to have moved things forward, but decided to take a chance on Mrs Harrison being loose-lipped about the past.
‘Tell me,’ he said, ‘does the name Doyle ring any bells with you? I’m talking about your time back in Hoxton, where you and Tommy first got together.’
‘The Doyle family? Of course. Who hasn’t heard of those sick bastards?’
‘You weren’t a fan, I take it?’
‘You can say that again. It was them who forced us all out of there in the first place. Whole
load of us came out here to Essex, mainly to get away from the Doyle mob. They weren’t happy to stick to their own patch in Islington, so they muscled in on Hoxton, too. They didn’t ask politely, either, if you know what I mean.’
Bliss did. ‘I assume they used violence and intimidation as opposed to chocolates and flowers.’ The caustic tone came easily to him. If this woman sought sympathy for her plight, she would have to look elsewhere. Villains shitting all over other villains was not something high on the list of things he cared about – unless innocents got caught in the middle, as was so often the case.
‘It was like some kind of ethnic cleansing,’ she said, shaking her head at the memory. ‘Only it weren’t the ethnics being cleansed, it was them doing the cleansing. Fucking Irish!’
Bliss noticed the son-in-law turn his head away. He put it on the back burner to return to later. ‘So there is absolutely no chance your husband ever did any work for the Doyle family?’
The woman stared at him as if he were insane. ‘What the… are you serious? Do you have any idea what it was like between rival gangs in London, especially in the seventies and eighties?’
‘As it happens, I do. I was born and raised in Bethnal Green. I worked the area, both as a uniform and as a detective. So yes, I have a pretty firm grasp on what gangland wars were like.’
‘Why ask bloody stupid questions, then?’
Tired of the attitude, Bliss gave a loud sigh. ‘I just wondered if Tommy did anything with them in the early days. Before they looked to take over the manor. Your old man knew the Doyle brothers, so he could have done a job or two with them before they established their reputation.’
Her scowl deepened, and her mouth twisted as she spoke. ‘There is no bloody way. Tommy knew all about the Doyles right from the off. Steering clear of them was an unspoken rule.’
‘But if nobody spoke about it, how can you be sure he didn’t wander?’ Chandler asked.
Slow Slicing (DI Bliss Book 7) Page 11