The Autumn Tree (DI Bliss Book 8)

by Tony J. Forder

  ‘That all sounds above board. I’m still not seeing your difficulty.’

  ‘It’s just that I overheard her talking on the phone one day and she called herself by a different name entirely.’

  ‘I see. And that was?’

  ‘Majidah. Majidah Rassooli.’

  Bliss looked at Bishop and nodded once. He left the two men to it and stepped out of the flat, moving into the kitchen where he could not be overheard. He called Chandler and she picked up on the third ring.

  ‘What’s up, boss? You and Bish enjoying your jolly boys’ outing?’

  He grinned. Her upbeat nature almost always made him feel better. ‘Remind me to have a word with you about that afterwards. Things have changed, and we all need to move on. But it can wait until later. I have a new name for you to run through the system – hopefully a real one this time.’ He gave her the name and asked her to pass it on to Glen Ashton too, together with a request that he run it by his people.

  ‘Is that all?’ she asked.

  ‘For the time being. We got that from the landlord. He was telling us about a few people being here at the flat yesterday. Seems they were cleaning up and clearing out. What with that and us traipsing all over the gaff, I don’t think there will be any pickings for CSI, but you’d better call them out to this address anyway. I’m doubtful, Pen, but this could be our original crime scene.’

  ‘Will do. Oh, and boss…’

  ‘Yeah, I know. Don’t call you Pen.’

  He cut the connection before she could respond. He knew that would irritate her, which brought out another grin.

  Back in the living room, Beaumont had decided to sit while Bishop grilled him hard. Bliss said nothing, listening to his colleague’s technique. The interview stage could be a trying one for all concerned, but Bishop was good at questioning people. The aim from the police side was to run through a list of events and hope to catch the suspect in a lie. If that happened, it would be used against them as the interview progressed. The hardest part was knowing what to ask and what to hold back. Bliss liked the way Bishop wrung so much out of the landlord while saying so little himself.

  Beaumont claimed to have encountered three men and a woman. Each of them had carried black bin liners out to a waiting vehicle, tossing them into the boot. Beaumont had also seen a bucket of cleaning supplies going the other way. The men claimed not to speak or understand English well enough to have a conversation with him, so the woman had done all the talking. She told him the young female tenant had been taken by the Border Force, and that she and her companions were simply gathering together some personal possessions and leaving the place as they would wish to find it.

  The landlord’s story had the ring of truth to it. Bliss thought about the wardrobe and chest of drawers crammed with clothes, and the makeup on the dressing table. He wondered why they’d been left untouched. But he was more interested in Beaumont’s compliance at the time.

  ‘So, let me get this straight,’ he said. ‘At no point did you lay eyes on the girl who lived here, yet for some reason you were quite happy for these strangers to clear out her flat?’

  ‘I didn’t think burglars would be cleaning up after themselves.’ Beaumont seemed pleased with his reply.

  ‘And neither did you think of giving us a bell, apparently. Yet you had no evidence to confirm they were doing any of it with the permission of the young woman who lived here.’

  ‘I told you. I didn’t think there was an issue.’

  ‘Thinking is clearly not your speciality,’ Bishop said. ‘That much is obvious. But even you can’t be that dumb. You must have known you’d be leaving yourself wide open to all manner of legal repercussions if your tenant arrived home to find her flat cleared out while you’d stood by watching them do it.’

  ‘But she wasn’t coming back, was she? She’d been snatched up by the border cops.’

  ‘Which didn’t necessarily mean she’d be detained and deported, even if it were true.’

  For the first time, the man appeared edgy. ‘Are you telling me it’s not true? She isn’t being held by immigration?’

  Bishop made no immediate reply. Bliss said nothing, either.

  After an awkward silence, the man seemed to crumble. ‘Look, I’m sorry. All right? There were four of them and only one of me. I was being straight when I told you how it happened, and about what they told me. But yeah, of course I knew it was dodgy. I’ve had these foreigners come and go like this before, and they don’t clean up after themselves that way. I’m not saying they all leave the flats like shitholes, but they certainly don’t send in cleaning crews behind them.’

  ‘So you knew it was off, but you stood aside and allowed it to happen anyway?’

  ‘Yes. It wasn’t something I wanted to get involved with.’

  ‘Did you get any names at all?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘How about the registration plate of their vehicle?’

  ‘No. I didn’t think to look.’

  On a hunch, Bliss pulled out his phone. Seconds later he was showing the man a photo of Nicola Parkinson. ‘Is this the woman you spoke to?’

  Beaumont barely glanced at the image before shaking his head. ‘No. That’s not her.’

  ‘Are you sure? Take another look. Closer this time.’

  Again the man shook his head. ‘It’s nothing like her. The woman I spoke to was much younger. A blonde.’

  ‘So what did you think was going on?’ Bishop asked him. ‘Or didn’t you care at all?’

  ‘Or did they give you something to look the other way?’ Bliss suggested. ‘Is that why you’re so nervous?’

  Beaumont looked between them. Finally his shoulders dipped. ‘I asked about the damage deposit and who I should return it to. They said I could keep it. That’s all, I swear.’

  ‘And you didn’t regard that as a bribe to turn a blind eye?’

  ‘No.’

  Bishop snorted. ‘You’re either a plank of the highest order, Mr Beaumont, or you’re bent. Either way, we’re not done with you.’

  The man’s face screwed up so much Bliss thought he might cry. ‘Are you arresting me?’

  ‘Did I say that? No. I won’t be placing you under arrest today, sir. But I will be authorising an investigation into you. I will also expect a fully detailed statement from you, and if you haven’t presented yourself at Thorpe Wood police station by noon tomorrow, I will send officers out looking for you. I can assure you they won’t be as charming as myself or DI – DS Bliss here. I hope I’ve made myself clear.’

  The landlord gave a sullen nod. ‘I didn’t do nothing wrong. Not knowingly. What happened to her, anyway? To Majidah? Can you at least tell me that?’

  Bliss regarded the man closely; he searched for a spark of humanity, but saw none. He knew then that Beaumont had most likely used their victim’s services, and that what he was attempting to pass off as concern was merely fear of discovery. He took a step towards him.

  ‘It’s none of your business,’ Bliss said. ‘But you’d better hope we don’t end up making you our number one suspect. Because if that happens, you become our business. And believe me, that’s when things start to turn ugly for you.’

  Before leaving, they spoke to the upstairs tenant, who had little more to add to what they already knew. He’d heard movement from downstairs, and from his window overlooking the street had spotted bags and other items being taken into and from the flat below. His involvement ended when he contacted Beaumont, and he had no memory of the vehicle they were using. He confirmed that he had not seen Rassooli in days; he’d assumed she was visiting family or had gone on holiday.

  When they were back in the car, Bliss continued to fret about what they had learned. ‘You know what bothers me most, Bish?’ he said.

  ‘The keys?’

  ‘Precisely. Whoever cleaned up had keys to the front door and the flat.’

  Bishop nodded, but when he spoke his tone was one of caution. ‘But not necessarily hers,’ he said
. ‘I can guess what you’re thinking: they let themselves in, so they must be connected to our killer. But her agency are bound to have their own keys. It could be them who were here.’

  Bliss wasn’t so sure. ‘Except that Beaumont told us she paid for the flat every month from an account in her fake name. Doesn’t that suggest it was her flat and not one of theirs?’

  ‘Maybe; maybe not. It’s rented, so they have no financial interests in the property. All they have to provide is a place for her to work out of. Instead of paying it themselves from a source that might leave an accounting trail, they let her keep the rent back from the money she earns provided she pays it into her bank and back out again. I’m betting that’s what we’ll find when we check her account.’

  Bliss gave it some thought. ‘You’re right,’ he said. ‘But if that’s the case, that still leaves us with an unanswered question.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘How did they know she wasn’t coming back?’

  Thirteen

  The team exchanged updates ahead of lunch, each throwing something new into the simmering pot that was Operation Phoenix. Bishop related his and Bliss’s experience at the victim’s flat. They discussed the matter of the keys, and how their use left the team struggling for more answers. A connection between the murder and the agency running Rassooli from that flat had to be given serious consideration. Bliss was happy with the outcome, convinced Lewis Drake’s organised crime gang were responsible.

  DC Ansari had got as far as discovering the provider of the mobile phone number used on their victim’s independent web page. As anticipated, her request for access to stored data was met with a tepid response. She had subsequently completed and submitted the necessary procedural forms.

  Meanwhile, Chandler had chased forensics and also spoken with Nancy Drinkwater about the post mortem. It was scheduled to be her final PM of the day and, as the pair had suspected, DCs Hunt and Gratton were given the unenviable task of attending. The Cambridge crime scene manager, Magda Nowicki, had willingly provided access to the forensic files, details and media. She also gave a verbal report over the phone, which pleased Chandler as the informal terminology made for better understanding. Nowicki had seemed eager to confirm there were no obvious signs of rape, though she wouldn’t entirely rule out the possibility. She was confident the cause of death would prove to be manual strangulation. The lack of prints indicated the killer had worn gloves, and fibres collected from the scene had been sent away for further analysis and testing.

  ‘Oh, and she also found minute traces of chemicals on our victim’s skin,’ Chandler said, having to consult her notebook before reading them off. ‘Benzyl alkyldimethyl chloride, and something called cocamidopropyl betaine.’

  ‘Did Magda know what their use was?’ Bliss asked.

  ‘Cleansing agents. Most likely some form of disinfectant, but less harsh than pure bleach.’

  Bliss thought back to the naked body lying still beneath the forensic tent, the victim’s flesh stark and pure. ‘But they would irritate the skin nonetheless, yes?’

  ‘Very much so. Which would explain the emollients, emulsifiers and aloe vera that were also detected, as were some minor abrasions. Our victim was most likely scrubbed down with the disinfectant and shampooed afterwards.’

  ‘Sounds thorough.’

  Nodding, Chandler said, ‘It does, except you have to wonder why they bothered with the shampoo. Magda is still researching what she found, but it looks obvious that whoever killed our girl was making sure they left no forensics on the body itself.’

  ‘Did you remember to ask about lividity?’ Bliss said.

  ‘I didn’t have to; Magda beat me to it. She told me there was insufficient evidence to confirm your theory that our victim was killed elsewhere and dumped at the chalk pits. But she went on to say that she also expects our pathologist to conclude that the body was moved after she was killed.’

  ‘In other words, our victim was not killed in the exact spot where she was discovered, but could still have been strangled in or around the chalk pits.’

  ‘That was the gist, yes.’

  Bliss felt a little kick of adrenaline. This information might be important, though he wasn’t quite sure how. His thoughts drifted back to the flat in Bretton. Hopefully their own CSI unit would find something to suggest the murder had taken place there, but the clean-up had been thorough. Strangulation was not a messy method of murdering somebody, other than the potential leakage of bodily waste.

  He turned back to his partner. Chandler was explaining that she’d brought in DC Ansari to run down the second escort agency while she herself spoke to Fraser and Gooch, the firm whose solicitor had rescued their victim from her ERSOU grilling.

  ‘They were not particularly forthcoming,’ Chandler admitted. ‘Other than confirming representation of our victim, they offered nothing else. Oh, and they point blank refused to tell me who’d contacted them to request their presence in Bedford that day.’

  ‘What name did they have for her?’ Bishop asked.

  ‘Larmina Nuri. The name she gave both ERSOU and the landlord.’

  ‘Makes sense. Clearly that was the name she stuck with when it came to her agency work and its repercussions.’

  ‘I’m getting nowhere fast with this second agency,’ Ansari told them. ‘Seems to be a string of them all under one umbrella, but they appear to be based in Armenia. I’m still chasing up a more local contact so that we can at least speak with them – my main problem being that the contact details on their various websites have so far proven to be false.’

  Glen Ashton had not yet returned to HQ. According to Chandler, he’d initially attempted to gather his information over the phone, but had eventually relented and driven down to his own offices in Bedford. His absence made it easier to talk more freely.

  ‘What’s your gut telling you?’ Chandler asked Bliss. ‘Was our victim killed by a punter, or is there more to it than that?’

  Bliss felt the pressure of expectation. Ashton being out of the room allowed him to open up without running the risk of having the case taken away due to a lack of evidence connecting the victim to Lewis Drake. Even so, the team were looking to him for guidance, and he had to be honest with them.

  ‘I think a punter flees the scene immediately after he kills her.’

  ‘I agree,’ Chandler said.

  ‘The presence of those fluids on her skin points to her having been murdered by somebody with time on their hands, which suggests they were confident of not being disturbed. It also reveals a cold and calculated mindset in taking anti-forensic measures. I believe she was disinfected and washed down, driven out to the chalk pits and dumped, then whoever did all that later summoned up a cleaning crew for her flat.’

  ‘But does that necessarily mean Drake was involved? Or anyone else from his organisation, for that matter?’

  Bliss shook his head. ‘No. But neither does it rule out the possibility, so we have to look closely at them. Our victim – let’s call her Majidah Rassooli until we know for certain otherwise – worked for an agency run by Drake’s operation. It puts them and him in the frame. I suggest we hold firm on that to keep this investigation under our control. But we also know she tommed for at least one other agency. As a working hypothesis, we could say there’s a good chance that one of her employers caught her moonlighting and decided to take her out. It explains how the agency knew to clean out her flat. The only thing that doesn’t quite work for me at present is the location of the body dump.’

  Bishop nodded his agreement. ‘It’s a problem. Why leave her out in the open to be found? Why not bury her or weigh down her body and throw it in the river?’

  ‘Perhaps she was left that way as a warning?’ Ansari suggested. ‘To the other girls, I mean. “This is what happens if you step out of line.”’

  Bliss decided it was a genuine possibility. ‘That’s a good thought, Gul. It’s also another avenue for us to explore. We could speak to some of those
other girls, ask if there’s been a general warning recently about them hooking on the side.’

  Ansari put her next question to Bishop. ‘I don’t see them talking to us, do you, boss?’

  After the slightest of pauses, he responded positively. ‘They might choose not to talk. But they won’t be able to stop us noticing the split second of fear in their eyes when we ask the question.’ Bishop’s own gaze switched to DCs Hunt and Gratton. ‘John and Phil, you two can pick up on that action. You can have the delightful experience of dealing with Nicola Parkinson this time.’

  That lightened the mood. There was some chuckling from those who’d had the dubious pleasure in the past. But even though Bliss disliked the woman intensely, he at least had a rapport with her. He thought he and Chandler might squeeze more out of the situation. However, the look he got from his partner when he volunteered their efforts in place of the two DCs almost shattered his resolve. When the team broke for lunch, he did his best to pacify her, but she was not happy with him. Eventually he gave up trying.

  Halfway through their break, Bliss took a call. He carried his hot chocolate out of the canteen and moved towards the stairwell, seeking privacy. Thirty seconds later he texted Chandler to tell her he was going off site for a short while and that she should wait for him in the squad room. He booked out a pool car – which raised a few eyebrows, considering he already had a vehicle assigned to his name – drove the short distance to the city hospital at Bretton Gate, found a parking space close to the emergency care entrance, and showed his warrant card at the reception desk. He gave the name of the patient he was there to see. Having checked the details on a monitor, the young man behind the desk provided him with clear directions.

  As he turned away, Bliss almost collided with a couple of paramedics. He apologised, without paying them too much attention.

  ‘Mind how you go with those dodgy ribs, Inspector,’ one of them said.

  This time he did look up. The female paramedic was staring intently at him, but Bliss could not place her. She was smiling, waiting for a response. When it became obvious none was forthcoming, she put the smile on full beam for him. ‘And there was me thinking I’d left a wonderful memory of our time together forever embedded in your heart. Tell me, Inspector, how many times have you been stripped to the waist and treated by a vivacious young woman while your car slowly disappears into a lake?’