Slow Slicing (DI Bliss Book 7)

by Tony J. Forder

  ‘What about our suspects? How firmly are you behind your theory of a deal between one of the Prices and this Swift character?’

  Bliss took his time before responding. The truth came easy to him, though he wasn’t sure how well either of his superiors would take it. He decided to tell it like it was and play the hand he’d been dealt.

  ‘I do have a strong sense that one of the Prices is involved – perhaps even both of them. I believe at least one of them is responsible for the flesh slicing. They might be taking it in turns, for all I know. But if that’s the case, their alibis mean they are not working alone, and given the list of potential suspects is becoming a list of victims, Freddy Swift has to be considered a strong candidate. Put simply, we’ve had three teams looking back at the Geraldine Price case, and nobody else stands out as an obvious suspect who might also easily be a victim. As you know, I was willing to throw my weight behind Phil Walker being our doer, only to see my theory fall flat when his hand was discovered.’

  ‘So you’re looking at Swift as much by default as anything overt?’ the DSI said.

  ‘We are, ma’am. My logic tells me it’s not him, but my common sense says it has to be.’

  Fletcher stood and brushed down her beige skirt. Both women were dressed casually, which told Bliss they were off duty. He hoped the Super would support him for a while longer. She gave him a stern look and cleared her throat. ‘Your full explanation of why you did not inform me about DI Riseborough’s guilt ahead of the meeting was very you, Inspector – frustrating and admirable in equal measures. But I haven’t quite decided how I feel about your phone-tapping nonsense, so I suggest you do nothing else to try my patience. Understood?’

  ‘Yes, ma’am.’

  ‘Very well. You’re on notice. Let’s meet again on Monday afternoon, ahead of the evening briefing. All three of us, yes?’

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Bliss said. Having aimed the apology at Fletcher, he turned to Warburton. ‘Both of you, please know I truly am sorry. I won’t attempt to make excuses for my actions, because there aren’t any. I meant what I said yesterday – I hoped to rule out both men so that all three of us could put our heads together and come up with a plan to find the leak. But, yes, I did also have a terrible suspicion that in doing so I might expose one of them. Ultimately, I wanted the leak, I found the leak.’

  ‘Another example of how the end justifies the means where you’re concerned,’ Warburton said.

  ‘I suppose I can’t argue with your assessment.’

  ‘No. And if you’re capable of listening to advice, I suggest you wrap this up by Monday evening’s briefing, Inspector. I’m not saying a win will help your cause, but it will put us in a better mood when we’re considering your fate. That’s all, thank you.’

  Bliss blew out a long sigh of relief as he stood up to leave. Warburton had remained reasonably neutral, perhaps waiting for Fletcher to show her colours; either that, or they had already made a decision ahead of the meeting. Whatever the reason, he’d been given latitude to carry on for at least the next two days. It was longer than he had expected, but it needed to be enough. They simply had to get a break between now and then.

  DS Bishop was waiting for him in the corridor. The big man leaned back against a wall, head down, a grim look on his face. He looked up as Bliss emerged from Fletcher’s office. ‘Sorry, boss. I didn’t want to interrupt this time. Thought it best to wait for you to leave before speaking up.’

  Bliss nodded, curious as to why Bishop had held back.

  ‘I’m glad you’re not the type to shoot the messenger, boss,’ Bishop said. His features weary with fatigue, the usually gregarious DS looked as crestfallen as Bliss had ever seen him.

  ‘That doesn’t sound good, Bish.’

  ‘No. It isn’t. Thing is, on Thursday when I told you Phil Walker was no longer a suspect because he was now a victim, you’d only just got done informing the big cheeses he was our man.’

  ‘I’m not liking where this is headed.’

  ‘I’m so sorry, boss. I can’t quite believe I’m doing this to you for a second time. And I thought you were right about Swift, despite the fact you kept saying you weren’t convinced about him.’

  ‘He’s turned up, I take it?’

  ‘He has. Though not in one piece. Several, in fact. Boss, Swift is our fifth victim.’

  Bliss cupped both hands over his mouth, recirculating air while the case he had built tumbled all around him as though caught in the path of an avalanche.

  ‘Boss… there’s more.’

  He looked back up at his sergeant, feeling every one of his years in the painful bones and aching muscles of his body. ‘And when you say there’s more, I take it you mean there’s worse?’

  Bishop nodded. ‘TOD is estimated to have been between 10.00am and noon yesterday.’

  The implications were immediately obvious to Bliss. ‘Where?’ he asked.

  ‘Epping Forest.’

  The beginnings of another headache jabbed a barb the size of a railway spike into the base of Bliss’s skull. In utter despair he punched the wall. ‘Which means this time, I am Andy and Stephen Price’s alibi.’

  Thirty-Eight

  It was a little over eighty miles from Thorpe Wood to the Sunshine Plain visitors’ area off the Epping New Road. This time Bliss took the A1, headed clockwise on the M25 motorway and left it at junction 26, signposted Waltham Abbey. From there it was a short run on quiet roads. After he and Bishop pulled up in the car park, Bliss got out and arched his back until he felt something click into place.

  ‘I wouldn’t like to guess how many miles I’ve travelled this past week or so,’ he said over the roof of the car, stretching out his arms and rolling his neck. ‘The sooner boffins get around to solving the problem of instant travel the better.’

  ‘Yep. Beam us here, Scotty. Beam us there, Scotty.’

  Bliss smiled at the comment; Olly Bishop wasn’t usually one for quoting popular TV or movie references. As he went through his contortions, Bliss noticed a young man engaged in a heated exchange with the officer guarding the scene. The voices of both men grew louder, encouraging Bliss to walk over and investigate.

  ‘This gentleman is demanding access to the paths we have cordoned off, sir,’ the young constable said. ‘Says he has special permission and that if he doesn’t get in there soon he’ll have wasted a month of work.’

  The uniform was burning up in the sunlight, the heat perhaps agitating him more than usual. Bliss gave him the benefit of the doubt. He nodded and carefully regarded the other man, who carried a backpack over one shoulder.

  ‘What’s your story?’ he asked.

  ‘I just got done explaining to this… officer, but he seems to think his job description allows him to behave like a fascist and deny me right of way.’

  Bliss prickled. He turned fully to stand square on to the man. ‘Right. I’m giving you a second chance to present your case. You can either continue to be rude and annoyed and puffed up about it, or you can explain to me why you should be allowed beyond the tape. Your choice. I have better things to be doing with my time.’

  The man took a beat to compose himself. Full of youth and himself, he clearly had disdain for authority, yet he seemed bright enough to know when and how to back down. The next time he spoke, he was contrite. ‘Okay. Sorry. Thank you. As I just explained to the constable, I work for the Wildlife Trust. My department has a grant to monitor animal movement in these woodlands. I need to get to my hides to change the camera batteries. If they stop working, there’ll be a gap in our captures, and all the work we’ve done so far will be utterly meaningless.’

  Bliss allowed himself to enjoy the immediate shot of adrenaline. His initial thought when he had spotted the altercation was to wonder if they had lucked into a witness; now he knew the man might be about to provide so much more than recollections. Turning to the uni
form, he said, ‘Is this all you aspire to, constable? Lifting tape, lowering tape, writing names and numberplates on your clipboard? Pissing off members of the public?’

  ‘Sir, I—’

  Bliss made a zipping motion across his own mouth. ‘That may be part of your problem – speaking rather than listening. Consider this a teachable moment, officer. Listen to me now and maybe, just maybe, you won’t still be on this kind of duty a year from now because it’s the only job you’re suitable for.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ The young man swallowed thickly and lines of tension bracketed his jaw.

  ‘Good. But tell me something: did you hear what this gentleman had to say? I don’t mean did you listen – I mean did you hear? Because if you had, you’d have put what he said together with what happened in those woods. And rather than turning him away, you might have brought him to my attention and earned yourself a gold star and a lollipop.’

  The constable continued to stare at him in mute bemusement.

  Bliss rolled his eyes and shook his head. ‘The man is here to feed life in the form of battery power into his cameras which are, I’m guessing, motion-activated. Constable, as I’m sure even you must realise, motion is not restricted to woodland creatures; yet somehow it never crossed your mind that those same cameras were just as likely to be triggered by our victim and his killer.’

  Light dawned slowly somewhere within the officer’s dim eyes. Tension ebbed away, resulting in a shoulder slump of dramatic proportions. Bliss ignored him and turned his attention back to the man from the Wildlife Trust. ‘Sir, when this officer lifts the tape for you, please walk over to that man there.’ Bliss pointed across to Bishop. ‘Tell him what you told me. Then tell him exactly where your cameras are. I can’t allow you onto our crime scene, but if you give your batteries to my sergeant he will make sure they get swapped for the dying ones. Okay?’

  He did not wait for a response from either man. Instead, he turned and walked across to a small gathering of suits and uniforms. ‘Is one of you DCI Kerry Ansolem?’ he asked.

  The lone woman in the group turned to face him. ‘Take a wild guess,’ she said, throwing out her arms and grinning. She was friendly enough, though seemed somewhat guarded.

  ‘My apologies,’ Bliss said. ‘Can’t be too careful these days. If I assume you’re a woman and it turns out you’re a man in a skirt, I’m in all kinds of deep shit.’ He held out his hand. ‘DI Bliss. Peterborough. Running the JTFO with London and Swindon.’

  ‘Pleased to meet you, Inspector.’

  Her hand was small but warm in his as they shook. ‘Likewise. So, what do you have for me?’

  ‘Victim is one Frederick Swift. He had ID on him. Correction – in fact, he had two separate sets of ID, but when we ran his prints he came back as Swift. His name also popped up with your arrest warrant flag. Unfortunately, our cuffs are useless, what with his remains being scattered over a small area of our finest Essex woodland. Our scene manager tells me a few parts may be missing, but it’s impossible to be certain at this stage. If any fail to show up, it could be they were carried off by animals, or perhaps removed from the scene by whoever carved him up. Judging by your case, I assume the latter is a distinct possibility.’

  ‘Most likely, yes,’ Bliss agreed. If first impressions were anything to go by, he was going to like this woman. His thoughts turned to the camera hides – had the investigation finally caught a break by having the murder, or at least the killer, captured on video? Although he knew neither Andy nor Stephen Price could be directly responsible, either could still have been working with somebody else – but the devastating scene here blew apart his notion of that person being Freddy Swift. Bliss had no idea where to turn next.

  ‘Nasty old business,’ Ansolem said, shuddering reflexively. ‘Nothing I haven’t seen before, but this looks like a vicious attack.’

  ‘I’ll want to take a look for myself.’

  ‘Of course. We’re waiting for the crime scene manager to create a safe pathway for us. He wasn’t happy with us for taking a quick look when we arrived, and as he’s pals with the Chief Super we decided to accept the bollocking and wait in the wings.’

  Bliss laughed. ‘Sounds familiar. CSI managers can be such drama queens at times. The head of our forensics team calls me a cowboy. Always complaining about me. Tells me I have no respect for his profession.’

  ‘And do you?’

  She asked the question in a way that suggested he was being judged on his answer. He nodded. ‘I do, as it happens, though I’d never let on. We rely on them for prosecuting these scumbags. It’s just… because their job is meticulous, they’re often so busy it can take hours for them to respond, and I’m too bloody impatient to hang around doing nothing.’

  It was Ansolem’s turn to laugh. ‘Sounds like we were separated at birth.’

  They chatted for a few minutes, at which point Bishop came bustling over, a backpack hooked over one shoulder. He and the DCI exchanged greetings before he turned to Bliss. ‘Boss, the man has a dozen cameras in hides close by. We’re pretty sure a few of them are pointing at the trail going towards our crime scene. Most are tucked away at low level, but others are mounted in trees. If we’re lucky, our man is now a film star.’

  Bliss filled Ansolem in on the confrontation in the car park, and saw her anticipation ratchet up several notches – as had his own. In carving Swift up and depositing the pieces along the woodland path, their man had, in Bliss’s view, reached saturation point. Perhaps Swift was the last of them and he had decided to go out in style. Either way, their perpetrator was finished with the game and unravelling fast.

  What was still unclear in Bliss’s mind was where the Prices came into the picture – if they did at all. And the deviation from the usual method of torture bothered him. Why treat Swift differently? Why break the pattern now? If the desire for personal revenge had overtaken Andy or Stephen Price, either or both men taking their time with their victims, enjoying their pain, why had they not finished their campaign in the same way? He suspected it was because they were not involved in this murder. It was looking increasingly likely that the man who had abducted the old gangsters and deposited the bags of their flesh had been talked into taking the last one off the map quickly. And – worst of all – with such precise timing as to put both men in the clear.

  ‘So, do you know where the cameras are?’ he asked Bishop.

  His DS pulled a scrap of paper from his breast pocket. ‘The bloke drew us a sketch. Approximate locations. When I told him what we needed and why, he quietened down a bit. And he gave me a dozen new SD cards. As soon as we’re allowed entry, I’ll swap out the batteries and cards and take the footage from all twelve cameras with us.’

  Bliss nodded. ‘Good thinking, Bish.’ He glanced across at DCI Ansolem. ‘I’m sorry. I’m taking a lot for granted here. This is your scene.’

  ‘No, no, no. I understood what we had here. Basically, I just babysat the scene for you. Now you’re on site, so it’s all yours, Inspector Bliss.’

  ‘Cheers. I do appreciate it. The wrangling we sometimes have to do with colleagues in different areas pisses me off. I’m grateful for your understanding.’

  ‘It may sound trite, but I don’t give a flying fart provided the bastard responsible for this mess is nailed to the wall for what he did. I hope at least one of those cameras exposes him for you.’

  ‘For all of us,’ Bliss said, casting his eyes over the trail and spotting movement. White protective suits were coming their way. ‘Looks like we’re up next.’

  Thirty-Nine

  The find this time was exponentially more grisly; no single white carrier bag was going to contain the result. Freddy Swift had been unmercifully sliced and diced, appendages and limbs hacked off and scattered along the wooded pathway. His head and neck remained attached to the torso, but virtually every expanse of flesh had been deeply lacerated or excised. The
person responsible either had a deep hatred for the man, or had fully emerged from their psychotic pupal state at the onset of this killing.

  Bliss made arrangements with DCI Ansolem for all forensic and investigative exhibits to be transported up to the Hinchingbrooke divisional headquarters as soon as they had been gathered, tagged and recorded. The body parts would go to Nancy Drinkwater at the Peterborough city mortuary. After offering his thanks to the various Essex teams, he and Bishop drove back to Thorpe Wood with a stash of twelve SD cards secured in static-free packaging. The station’s in-house tech division had recently been swallowed up by the more comprehensive unit in Huntingdon, but DC Ansari had received a bag of electronic goodies from the IT techs on the day they left. Bliss felt sure she would have the necessary cables and digital readers to hand.

  Less than ten minutes after he and Bishop arrived back at HQ, the vastly reduced team sat in the incident room and watched closely as Ansari flicked through the footage on card after card. On several occasions she paused a clip – the camera in question having picked up foot and leg movement – made a note of the SD card’s serial number, and logged it into evidence. They were four cards in when the breakthrough they were looking for appeared on screen.

  The figure was unaware of the hidden cameras, but walked with a stoop and wore a navy blue sweatshirt with its hood pulled up, so none of the viewers were able to get a clear picture of the wearer’s face. Whoever it was had a rucksack on their back, and their gait suggested the load they carried was a heavy one. Bliss thought the figure had the build and shape of a man, and got nods of agreement from his team when he voiced that opinion.

  He watched the screen without daring to blink. Irritated at not being able to see his features, Bliss’s gaze took in the physical stamp of the man; the way he moved, the bodily shifts and tics. At one point he frowned; an alert was going off inside his head, though he was unable to pinpoint why. His subconscious told him he had seen something of note, but it was short on specifics. For some unaccountable reason, he thought it tied in with something Chandler had said, but the sheer volume of information they had exchanged in recent days prevented him from picking it out.