Among the many collected works were books investigating historical and legendary spots around the United Kingdom. Bliss noted two devoted to myths associated with standing stones, and a few others about ‘haunted’ monuments and disused sites. Intrigued, he began to work through an idea.
In the bedroom he came upon something even more disturbing. Ranged along the wall opposite the bed hung a number of framed prints, each of which portrayed crucifixion scenes. Two of them were named: The Martyrdom of St Andrew, by Antonio del Castillo y Saavedra, and Francken’s Crucifixion of St Andrew. Bliss didn’t notice Chandler walk into the room, but he heard her low mutter of revulsion as she came up behind him.
‘Phil Walker is one sick puppy,’ she said. ‘Fancy going to sleep at night with all that ugly shit staring down at you.’
‘He probably got off on it.’
‘Ugh! Don’t.’
‘I’m not joking.’ He glanced back over his shoulder and jerked his thumb towards the bedside cabinet. ‘Our man keeps two boxes of tissues and a large bottle of baby oil handy.’
Chandler closed her eyes, but he knew she would carry the mental image around with her for the rest of the day. When he looked at the prints again, he noticed something peculiar. ‘Check out the crucifixes,’ he said. ‘They’re not the usual T shape.’
‘Yes, I noticed that. I’ve never seen those X-shaped ones before.’
Bliss peered closely at the print farthest from the door. It caught the light spilling in from the lone window, almost as if the sun had wanted to attract them to it. ‘Look at this one. It’s not St Andrew. This poor sod is strung between two of those X-shaped crucifixes. And see what’s being done to him, Pen.’
Chandler stepped up in front of the print. The original painting had skimped on detail when it came to facial features, but there was no disguising the activity portrayed. Around the bound figure, whose mouth was an open black smudge, one man was hacking away at his stomach, while two others gleefully held aloft bloody chunks of his body.
‘This is ghastly,’ she said, cringing as if in pain herself.
‘Yeah. It’s awful stuff. I don’t know about you, Pen, but I put all this together with those books about legends and historical sites, and even though we now know Walker is a victim, this tells its own story. Whoever took him, sliced him up and removed his hand, based their method on the man’s own horrible appetites. They also got the idea of where to leave the bags from his interest in legend and ancient locations. That tells me they knew each other well. To me, it says our man’s ultimate target was Walker, and he built his entire sordid plan around Walker’s taste for the macabre.’
They spent just under an hour searching Walker’s flat before asking for it to be sealed. They found no evidence other than the books and paintings, but as they left and headed back to the motorway, Bliss thought he now understood the man better. Although circumstantial, the specific subject matter revealed by the textbooks and artwork convinced him Walker was the final victim. It also squared the circle, confirming links between the torture victims and the murder of Geraldine Price; there were no coincidences to be found in those connections.
Northbound traffic was heavy around Stansted airport and the A14 junction, but they were soon in the outside lane, hovering just over the speed limit. Bliss enjoyed driving. Usually it helped clear his mind, but today his thoughts were flapping around inside his head like clothes in a tumble dryer.
‘You know,’ he said as they reached Alconbury, ‘it occurs to me that none of what we’ve seen or heard in recent days slams a door on either of our two main theories. But if one of our old gangsters is topping those who were involved in Price’s murder, we’re fast running out of suspects. Equally, if it’s out of vengeance, who exactly is seeking justice? Geraldine’s father is dead, the husband and son have strong alibis. Are we missing somebody? Did Geraldine’s brother check out in the end?’
Chandler took out her phone and logged into the case file. She scrolled down, jabbed a link and read what came up on her screen. ‘He did.’ she said. ‘Oddly enough, he suffers from Ménière’s. He’s married with one child, and currently living in Canada. Phil spoke to him at his home address, and his passport hasn’t been used in three years.’
‘Didn’t come home after Valerie died, then?’
‘It’s a long way, boss.’
‘True.’ He fell into silent thought again for a few moments. ‘In which case, I wonder if Geraldine Price was having an affair. A love affair, I mean, involving actual love and not just sex. If she was, perhaps whoever loved her at the time is now on some kind of crusade.’
‘But why wait until now? And why involve Conway? Why carve the case file reference into the flesh?’
‘I’ve always thought the Conway angle cuts both ways – no pun intended. If it’s a gang member, we can assume he’s mocking Pete. You know the sort of thing I mean – you couldn’t catch me before and you’re not going to now, either. And if it’s not that but a question of revenge, highlighting Conway is a different type of taunt. You couldn’t catch them and make them pay, but I can.’
‘Yeah, I can buy that. But do you honestly think she could ever have been so close to another man that all these years later he would decide to take on a bunch of old-time gangsters? And I keep coming back to it: why now? Why wait all this time? If he exists, what’s his trigger?’
Acknowledging the comment with a shrug, Bliss felt himself running out of steam. Not so long ago he’d been convinced their man was Phil Walker, yet now they knew he was a victim along with Harrison, Carlisle and Dobson. His gut told him Swift was running not from the police but from whoever was slicing chunks off his friends. Valerie Price killing herself may have been a substantial enough trigger for Stephen or Andy Price to have snapped and sworn vengeance on these men; yet, despite the obvious conclusion, evidence suggested this was not entirely the case.
But it had to be one or the other. A cover-up or revenge. If it was the former, he was wrong about the acts being so personal they could only be committed by somebody close. Could he have got it so badly wrong? Was somebody once tentatively attached to the gangsters now taking them out one by one? Or a different type of killer doing so on behalf of the Prices, whether paid for or otherwise? Neither felt right to Bliss, because it put distance between the doer and the motive, but unless the perpetrator was someone they knew absolutely nothing about, his gut had to be wrong.
‘The Price financials didn’t throw up a single question mark, right?’ he said, seeking confirmation of what he thought he knew.
‘Not a thing. We checked business and personal accounts.’
Bliss concentrated harder still.
One or the other.
The phrase stuck in his mind as he went through it all one last time with his partner. ‘Tell me what you think,’ he said when he was done. ‘Honest opinion. I’m tying myself up in knots here, and I may not be seeing any of it clearly any more. I can’t seem to take a step back, so I need you to do it for me.’
‘Rationally speaking,’ Chandler said after a few moments, ‘I think Andy and Stephen Price have the greater motive. Put them together with the recent trigger of losing Valerie and we’d have little reason to look beyond them if it weren’t for their alibi. Remove that, and they’d both be in for questioning right now.’
‘But we can’t ignore the alibis. We can be certain of two things: neither of them deposited the bag on Monday morning, and the condition of the hand inside it also tells us neither of them removed it. None of which entirely rules out their involvement, so perhaps we shouldn’t be allowing the alibi to cloud our judgement. They have motive, they have the trigger. I don’t like the distancing factor, but them paying for somebody to do this on their behalf may be a plausible explanation; I have to accept that, though it doesn’t mean I have to believe it. And from there, it’s reasonable to assume they also told their man to kill
the victims in this precise way.’
Bliss was nodding to himself as he spoke. He paused briefly before continuing. ‘Which leaves us with Freddy Swift as our only viable suspect. Now, does he seem right to you?’
‘No. No, he doesn’t. But right or wrong, we can’t ignore the Prices and we can’t ignore our porn king.’
‘I know. I’d like to speak with the pair of them again, but I don’t know the best way to handle it. What I really want to do is bring them in for interview and statements.’
‘Then let’s do that.’
He shook his head. ‘No – they’re both savvy solicitors. They know they’re under no obligation to speak to us, so they won’t. They’ll insist on being arrested, which puts us on the clock. With what we have on them we’ll get twenty-four hours, eight of which will be set aside for sleep, a few hours for legal chats and comfort breaks. No, we don’t go near them unless we’re either desperate or have something more solid to tackle them with. On the other hand, we can arrest Freddy Swift on sight. If we manage to break him, he may lead us to their door.’
Chandler glanced out of her window for a few moments, the scenery switching from rural open fields and distant housing developments to a vast industrial background; a sure sign they were closing in on the city. ‘You’re right, though, boss. The circumstances seem to fit, and at the same time not quite fit, both theories. The sole thread binding them together is the victims.’
Something about Chandler’s flat statement tugged at him. She was absolutely right. The victims were the common denominator, but only if they were involved in Geraldine’s murder – a theory for which the police had absolutely no evidence. But just because the shared connection between the Prices and the victims lay in the past, it didn’t mean there were no links in the present. Andy and Stephen Price were solicitors, often advocating for the defence; Freddy Swift was the one current suspect who was also a previous suspect. Given his proclivities, was it so outrageous to imagine that either Andy or Stephen Price might have acted on Swift’s behalf in the recent past?
‘One or the other,’ Bliss muttered, adrenaline now hammering through his veins like rocket fuel. The phrase repeated itself, but this time he recognised it for what it was.
‘Did you say something?’ Chandler asked, absently.
‘I keep thinking it has to be one or the other – either the gangsters or the Prices. But what if I’m wrong, Pen?’
‘In what way?’
‘What if it’s not one or the other at all? What if it’s both?’
Thirty-Five
Bliss began the briefing by informing those seated around him of his conversation with ex-DCI Morris Drayton. That interview seemed so long ago now, as if days rather than hours had passed. He also went into detail relating to the warranted search of Phil Walker’s home. Everyone listened intently, captivated by Bliss’s gentle unravelling of intelligence and logical speculation. Keeping a surreptitious eye on DI Riseborough, Bliss noticed the man’s brow furrowing every so often, though he did not speak out at the time.
DSI Fletcher was the first to put voice to her thoughts after Bliss stopped talking. ‘That’s an awful lot of work to get through in such a short period of time, Inspector. You and DS Chandler did well. I’m particularly drawn to your own impressions regarding Walker’s involvement.’
Bliss felt fatigue wrestling with his thoughts. He was bone weary, but up for this encounter. ‘I took photos on my phone, ma’am. I arranged for a full forensic sweep, but for now we can go over my own snaps if you like. But if you’d been there you would have seen it more clearly. It all fits. The man we’re looking for is close enough to Walker to know his sickening tastes, and to physically exploit those preferences in order to punish the crew who raped, tortured, and murdered Geraldine Price. I now believe Walker to be his final victim. With him, the desire for revenge dies. All of which tells me one or both of the Price men is involved, and they are working with another man.’
‘Presumably this Freddy Swift character,’ Conway said. Today he carried his weight poorly, looking uncomfortable and ill-prepared for what lay ahead. He understood a great deal of scrutiny would later come his way.
Bliss’s features contorted into a brief grimace. ‘I doubt it. I admit I was wrong about Andy or Stephen Price – perhaps about both of them – but on reflection I can see how either man could have snapped and may now be capable of doing something unimaginable. No matter how many times I try to do the same with Swift, however, I don’t see it.’
‘Not that you have any real evidence against Andy or Stephen Price,’ Fletcher reminded him. ‘I can certainly see the merit in your argument, Inspector. The pieces do appear to fit quite neatly. But you’re going to need a great deal more before we can proceed along those lines.’
‘I realise that, ma’am. All I’m doing here is outlining my theory. I’m as certain as I can be about so much of it, but it’s those final aspects I’m not quite sure of, and if you agree with me then those will be our main area of focus from this point on.’
He had been waiting for Riseborough to speak up. When the DI finally did, he asked the exact question Bliss had been expecting. ‘I’m sorry if I seem more confused than usual. I assume wires have become crossed. But am I the only one at this table who was under the impression the severed hand found at North Weald had not yet been identified?’ He cast an accusatory glare in Bliss’s direction, folding his arms defensively.
‘You are the one person in this room who believes that to be the case, yes,’ Bliss confessed. ‘Because you’re the only person in this room who was given that information. Deliberately so.’
Bewildered, Riseborough looked around the table. Bliss thought the wild gleam of panic in the man’s eyes suggested he realised all was not well, but had not yet formed an opinion as to precisely why. ‘I’m sorry,’ he said, ‘but you’re going to have to explain that to me, Bliss.’
‘I intend to, Max. Let’s start right there. I decided the leak to the Daily Express had to have come from either your team or Gablecross.’ Bliss held up a hand to forestall any argument at this point. ‘I gave the correct intel to Superintendent Conway, the incorrect version to you. When the newspaper’s online presence ran an update stating the new victim had yet to be identified, with police expecting to name him within a day, I knew the leak had to be at your end.’
Riseborough shot to his feet. ‘This is an outrage! How dare you not tell me what you had planned? I’m a leading figure in this joint task force, and as such I ought to have been informed!’
Bliss leaned back in his chair and stared the man down. ‘I dared because I couldn’t take the risk. I don’t know you well enough, Max. You could have told your team everything on the off-chance that one of your people was the leak, perhaps having decided to prevent it from happening again rather than root them out.’
‘And you consider that an acceptable way to behave? To con one of your colleagues? You have no right to question my own actions, let alone perpetrate this… this… scam on me and my team.’ He looked around for support, his face crimson. ‘Are you all okay with this? You think this is professional behaviour?’
‘Please retake your seat, Inspector Riseborough.’ DSI Fletcher nodded towards his chair. ‘DI Bliss is not quite finished.’
‘Oh, really? What else does he have in store?’
‘Now, that I can’t tell you, because none of us know. DI Bliss chose to inform us all at the same time, so we are as much in the dark about this development as you. Now, please, Max, sit yourself down and listen along with the rest of us.’
Bliss took the time to compose himself. The others had agreed to him holding back the most telling information, but he was expecting uproar irrespective of the result of his own investigation.
‘Thank you, ma’am,’ he began. ‘And let me be clear: no other member of my team is aware of what I am about to tell you. They had no clue as
to my intentions, so whatever your reaction, I’d be grateful if you would aim it at the two people involved and nobody else.’
‘This is all starting to sound terribly ominous,’ DCI Warburton said.
Her eyes met his and asked the question. Bliss shrugged and got on with it. ‘Having created the strategy for identifying which team had the leak, I went a stage further. Initially my intention was to eliminate two of my colleagues, so that I could bring them both into the next phase of my plan to isolate the culprit – though I did wonder if it might have the opposite effect.’
The room became quiet and still. Bliss understood the consequences of his actions, but there was no turning back. ‘The step I took – alone – was to monitor four mobile phones and two internal switchboard extension numbers, with the specific intention of identifying communication between the users of these devices and the Daily Express reporter whose byline sat beneath the leaked information. If the latest leak appeared online without any apparent contact between these individuals, it wouldn’t have ruled them out entirely, but it would have given me greater confidence in their trustworthiness.’
‘You said four mobiles,’ Conway pointed out.
‘Yes. A personal and a work device for each of the two individuals. I was ninety percent sure this monitoring would produce no results, but unfortunately, that was not the case. Between the time I provided the information about Walker to both DSI Conway and DI Riseborough, and the time of the update article appearing on the Express website, a call was made to the reporter from one of those devices.’
All heads turned now to face both men, who sat together opposite Bliss. He looked up and saw anticipation on each face, together with a kind of fascinated dread at the secret about to be divulged.
Slow Slicing (DI Bliss Book 7) Page 26