The Autumn Tree (DI Bliss Book 8)

by Tony J. Forder

  She smiled. Nodded. ‘Yes, sir.’

  ‘For a regular woman going about her regular day,’ he added, thinking out loud. He recalled the escort agency photographs online. ‘But not for an escort about to meet her client. Sorry, I’m rambling. I can’t be sure what that tells us.’

  So wrapped up in the moment was he that Bliss had failed to notice colleagues drifting into the incident room. Behind him, Chandler cleared her throat and said, ‘What have I told you about messing around with ladies’ underwear, Jimmy?’

  Bliss started, dragged out of wherever his mind had wandered. He turned, saw the team eyeballing him, and gave an embarrassed smile. ‘To wait until it’s been worn at least half a dozen times without being washed before sniffing it?’ he shot back.

  Chandler’s look was one of disgust. ‘At the very least. So, what’s on your mind?’

  ‘Sorry about that. I was miles away. Let’s begin at the beginning. Starting with handing out these coffees.’

  ***

  Bliss assembled the team, which today included both DCI Warburton and Detective Superintendent Fletcher. He and the DSI exchanged nods as she made her way over to her usual spot at the back of the room. Prior to the slow slicing case, Fletcher had been seeking promotion. She’d missed out on the job at nearby Hinchingbrooke, which would have given her overall responsibility for Peterborough and the teams at Thorpe Wood. Bliss still wondered if his behaviour had cost her that step up, or if she was merely biding her time. He hoped it was the latter; he liked having her in that position, but not if she was stuck there against her will, with him the reason for it.

  ‘We have a surprising turn of events,’ he said, kicking off the briefing. ‘Due to the eagle eye and great instincts of Carolyn Miller, our exhibits officer for Operation Phoenix, we have another piece of the puzzle. Only trouble is, this one doesn’t help us, as far as I can tell. In fact, in some ways it takes us further away from completing the entire picture.’

  Bliss went on to explain their findings. ‘I know some of you arrived at the tail end of our musings at the time,’ he said. ‘But it’s important that we are all on the same page here. So far we have been working on two main theories: firstly, that our victim, Majidah Rassooli, was murdered for plying her trade on the side; and secondly, that she was strangled to death by a punter. Those were our order of priority in respect of actions so far. I won’t argue if anybody suggests we came up with the theories and tried to run the investigation along those lines. Yes, it would be great if we could do things the other way around, but every so often you get something more obvious. This looked like one of those cases.’

  ‘Are you now saying it isn’t, sir?’ Hunt asked.

  ‘No. Not quite. I’m saying this fresh evidence has thrown a bloody big rusty spanner into the works. We were thinking along the lines that one of the agencies Majidah worked for had discovered she was hooking on the side. Stripping her naked and piling up her clothes didn’t sit quite right, but we seldom know all the circumstances. I never liked the alternative theory, of a punter who got out of hand. It felt too contrived, too much work afterwards. The location never quite did it for me, either.’

  ‘Which makes this odd matter of the clothing being the wrong size even more peculiar,’ DCI Warburton said.

  ‘Precisely, boss. That would appear not to gel with either scenario. So I’m wondering what we’ve overlooked.’

  ‘Are you suggesting this operation rolls back on investigating the agencies, DS Bliss?’

  ‘I’m saying I think we have to pause and reflect, boss. Instead of setting aside the pieces that don’t fit our hypotheses, let’s examine them more closely.’

  ‘Such as?’

  Bliss ran a hand over his face and brushed over the tiny scar on his forehead. ‘The location, for one. Why would a punter meet her or take her out onto the chalk pits on a chilly autumn evening? It was unseasonably cold and frosty that night, remember. For that matter, why would she go? I’m not overlooking the fact that he could have picked her up in his car, killed her elsewhere and taken her to the pits afterwards. Only, that doesn’t tie in with her flat being cleaned out the following day.’

  ‘Which is where the escort agencies come back in,’ Bishop said. He was standing alongside Bliss, and had been happy to take a back seat until he had something to offer. ‘The location of the dumping ground still doesn’t make a lot of sense to us, but her being murdered by her agency bosses is a better fit with everything else, other than the clothing.’

  ‘So the chalk pits remain an anomaly we can’t yet explain,’ Bliss continued. ‘For either scenario. Her body being left naked isn’t unusual in itself, but we were puzzled as to why the clothes had been left close by. That was another angle we’d not been able to work out, although to be fair, we haven’t yet had the time to focus on it. But in being drawn back to them, I’m finding the whole thing stranger still. The clothes being hers would be one thing, something we’d still have to question. But some or all of them not being hers is bizarre.’

  Bishop scratched the back of his head. ‘I have to admit, this aspect alone makes me think we’ve been wrong on both counts so far. It felt staged before – now it feels too staged. And these different sized clothes mean something. I’m with Jimmy. I think we need to take a step back and start looking at this again, from the beginning and from every possible angle. What seemed logical to us from the start still might throw up the answers we’re looking for, but I think we need to fill in the missing pieces of this smaller puzzle before we can move onto the larger picture.’

  ‘Where will you begin second time around?’ DSI Fletcher asked. She seldom – if ever – spoke at briefings, and her asking a question was rarer still.

  Bliss kept quiet. This was Bishop’s moment. Time for the big man to step up and take charge of his team.

  ‘I think we start by scrubbing the boards, ma’am,’ Bishop said after a slight pause. ‘We piece the investigation together again, only this time with greater focus on the clothing. As a team we need to discuss what we think this means.’

  ‘And what does it mean to you?’

  Bishop shuffled uneasily from foot to foot and wrapped one meaty fist in his other hand. ‘I’d love to have an answer for you, ma’am. But like I said, we’re clearing the boards and starting afresh. It would be wrong to throw wild guesses at this new piece of information. We need to put our heads together and thrash out ideas. It’s what we do. I’ve learned that from the best, and it’s a process that works.’

  ‘It doesn’t appear to have worked for the past couple of days, DS Bishop. Days that are now lost to us.’

  Bliss inwardly winced. Fletcher was not giving him an easy ride. It was her way of testing his mettle. He wasn’t worried; Bishop had the right stuff.

  ‘That’s the way these investigations sometimes go in the early stages, ma’am,’ his friend said with conviction. ‘We’re still gathering information and evidence. Each piece that comes in can cause you to alter course. I’d say the clothing size issue is a significant one, and when something like that happens you have to evaluate it carefully. Taking a step back to reconsider is never a bad thing. It can clear the mind, sharpen focus. Above all, it can correct thinking.’

  Fletcher’s lips twitched. ‘And where does your thinking tell you to start?’

  Bishop was ready for her. ‘First action will be to run this new information through HOLMES, ma’am. So far we’ve focussed all our efforts on the victim, which was absolutely the right thing to do. I think from this stage in the proceedings we have to start looking harder at the killer. Because I’m getting the sense that this might not be his first time.’

  Seventeen

  The Home Office Large Major Enquiry System had been around for thirty-five years. Now into its second incarnation, the additional features of HOLMES II allowed users working serious crimes to interrogate the database using relatively unstructured queries. In this instance, Bishop had asked for the operator to seek information on si
milar crimes, using a number of keywords associated with their findings. It wasn’t the most reliable of systems, but it usually got the job done.

  A uniformed constable by the name of Pickford had been selected for HOLMES duty, and he came rushing over to interrupt the conversation the Major Crimes team were an hour into. He flashed a wad of yellow paper, whose colour told them this was the result of the data search.

  ‘Look at the first page,’ he said, barely able to contain his excitement. ‘The list of perfect matches.’

  Bishop took the printouts from him and set the top page face up on the desk. The others angled themselves to get a clear view.

  FEMALE > BETWEEN 17 AND 25

  MANUAL STRANGULATION

  SEX WORKER

  FOUND NAKED

  OPEN LAND > SOC OR BODY DUMP

  TREE > BODY FOUND BENEATH OR CLOSE TO

  CLOTHES > FOUND CLOSE BY

  CLOTHES > INCORRECT SIZES FOR VICTIM

  BODY DISINFECTED AND WASHED CLEAN POST MORTEM

  Bliss recognised the silence that followed: a moment captured in time in which everybody present acknowledged the significance of the find. A seismic step forward in an investigation that warranted celebration, yet at the same time was tinged with apprehension and weighed down by experience and understanding.

  He had investigated a number of major crimes during which multiple murders had been committed. The majority were carried out for reasons the investigators were capable of understanding: revenge, jealousy, hatred, or even financial reward or some other inducement. True serial killers, those whose motives were psychological as opposed to rational or emotional, were much rarer. His last one had been his first case after returning to the city. Prior to that, he’d been involved in only one other.

  Everything he read on that yellow sheet of paper screamed as loud as any voice, telling him they were confronting a serial. Pausing to take a step back so they could move on had not merely provided the necessary clarity they had sought; it had completely shattered their original line of thinking as if it were as fragile as glass. In its place had stepped forward something monstrous.

  The name of Malcolm Thompson continued to burn in Bliss’s mind like the dying embers of a bonfire. A man whose psychopathy arose from a mind that had been twisted and tortured out of all recognition first by his equally murderous father, and then by a mother so wicked and callous it was impossible to fathom what dark imaginings she was capable of. His younger victims had all been left alive following their rape ordeals; the older women, he had brutally and ritualistically butchered.

  The eerie silence broke as everybody seemed to talk at once. Bliss raised his hands to quieten them all down. His throat felt tight and dry as he spoke. ‘Listen up. Those of you who were on Operations Observer and Limestone may think you’ve already worked serial killings, but you’d be wrong about that. Pavl Savic killed a number of people, but the man was a gun for hire, trained to kill in exchange for money. As for our slow slicing case a short while ago – again, while there were multiple victims, genuine and understandable reasons lay at the root of them. Believe me, this is going to be different. Ask those who worked the Thompson case, if you need some insight. There’s a difference, requiring a completely different mindset. These people don’t think the way we do. Their process is way out of our scope. But don’t worry about it – be thankful. Believe me, it will energise you and have you using different parts of your brain.’

  During the ensuing silence as his words sank in, Superintendent Fletcher burst into the room, having earlier returned to her own office. She apologised for interrupting their meeting, but said she had some urgent news for the team.

  ‘Your HOLMES search threw up a red flag,’ she said, panting a little. She paused to draw in a deep breath before continuing. ‘I took a call from the Yard. Any matches you found were originally entered into the system by them. I’m sure you realise what this means. My opposite number informed me they have three unsolved cases on their hands, all matching this same MO. When the murders appeared to stop, they assumed their man had either died, fled the country, or was perhaps even banged up somewhere. It seems likely that he simply moved out of London and bided his time before selecting his next victim. As you might expect, the Yard are keen to discuss Operation Phoenix with us.’

  Peterborough’s Major Crimes team was accustomed to working with other units and authority areas. Tighter budgets, fewer staff, and combined computer databases had inevitably led to a more collaborative policing method, which continued to evolve. There was no longer any room for jurisdictional squabbling. Bliss was glad of this, as he had always regarded it as counterproductive. Working recent cases with the Lincolnshire and Wiltshire authorities, in addition to the Met and the City of London police, the team had achieved successful outcomes. In each situation, Thorpe Wood had taken the lead. Bliss suspected that would not be the case this time.

  He realised nobody was speaking. When he glanced up, all faces were turned to him. DS Bishop had not taken on the role of responding to the Superintendent’s news, and they were both waiting for Bliss to say something.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, flustered. ‘I suppose the experience does rest with me. I’m still trying to wrap my head around the shift in momentum. When I came in here this morning, we were going to look for a way in to Lewis Drake’s escort business, and now we apparently have a serial on our hands.’

  ‘I reckon it’s thrown us all, Jimmy,’ Bishop said. ‘I worked the Thompson case with you, but I’m not sure I’m ready to lead something of this magnitude.’

  Bliss shrugged. ‘We all experience our firsts, Bish. Thompson was only my second. I’m happy to stick to you like glue for the rest of the investigation, but I think you’re more than able to handle running the op from our end.’

  ‘From our end?’ This from Warburton, whose forehead creased quizzically.

  Bliss nodded. ‘This is going to be the Met’s case. In fact, we’ll do well to have any involvement at all. Remember, this was only ours because of the Lewis Drake connection. If the Met believe there’s nothing to that, they may decide to work it with DI Kennedy in Cambridge instead.’

  This gave rise to groans all round. Bliss slapped a smile on his face and hushed them. ‘Have a bit of faith, people. I’m not giving up on the link with Drake. This girl was one of his, remember. Our new intel suggests he probably wasn’t involved with her murder, but if whoever is running the show on his behalf is looking at their investment being wiped out, they’re not going to be happy about it. We need to be prepared for some blowback. Also, our killer has to have targeted Majidah, and for all we know, that could still have happened through the agency. It’s doubtful, but neither DI Kennedy nor whoever the Met have running things at their end need to know that.’

  Bliss paused, realising why he had felt free to make that statement. ‘Which reminds me – anybody know why Glen Ashton isn’t here?’

  ‘I think he was going to his ERSOU office first thing, boss,’ Phil Gratton offered up. ‘Chasing down something more solid than he thought we were coming up with.’

  ‘That’s in our favour, then.’ Bliss looked to DSI Fletcher. ‘Ma’am. I take it the Met officer in charge of their case wants to meet with us? If so, are we going there or are they coming here?’

  ‘That was one of the things I came down here to tell you. They’re already on their way.’

  Bliss breathed out, his heart thumping behind his ribs. ‘More good news. That gives us time to prepare for their visit. I know this goes against the grain, but I don’t have a problem with them taking the lead on this. They have three victims to our one, so they must have a lot more intel and evidence to share with us than we have for them. But I’m buggered if I’m going to see us elbowed out of the way only for Cambridge to step in. We’ve worked this case, not them. It might only have been for a couple of days so far, but those are our man-hours and our sleepless nights. If everyone agrees, I want us to split our efforts: one half of the team works t
he new information, the other stays on Drake and his seedy little empire.’

  ‘Is that simply a tactic to keep us involved or a genuine avenue to explore?’ Fletcher asked.

  ‘It’s both, ma’am. I’m not big on coincidences, but I accept they occur. Our victim being one of Drake’s girls might well be one of those curious things that happens every now and then. On the other hand, until we’ve pursued the matter to its logical conclusion we won’t know for certain. I think that keeps us in the mix, and might still lead to something we can explore further.’

  Fletcher uncrossed her arms and nodded. ‘You have a green light from me.’ She turned to Warburton. ‘Diane?’

  The team’s DCI gave her own nod. ‘I’m happy with that. How about you, Bish?’

  He responded without pause for reflection. ‘I think it’s the perfect strategy.’

  ‘Good. And you’ll take point on this?’

  Bishop drew himself up to his full height. His barrel of a chest rose and fell. ‘Of course,’ he said. ‘Myself, DC Ansari and DC Gratton will focus our attention on the clothing, the intel we have in from HOLMES, and the killer. I’ll put DC Hunt with DS Chandler and DS Bliss to continue working the Lewis Drake angle, together with our victim.’

  Hunt groaned theatrically. ‘Why am I always the last to be picked or the first to be handed over to the other team? I feel like the fat kid in school at playtime.’ Everybody laughed, including Hunt himself. ‘It must be my winning personality,’ he said. ‘I have too much charisma, and you bosses don’t want to be outshone.’

  Bishop nodded enthusiastically. ‘He’s right, you know. Sunglasses on, everyone. John has his disposition set to stun.’

  When the resulting laughter died down, Bliss wandered over to Hunt. He patted the DC on the back and said, ‘Just for that, the cakes are on you.’

  A raucous cheer went up and there were wide smiles all round.

  Fletcher pushed herself away from the desk she’d been leaning against. ‘Excellent,’ she said, seemingly delighted with what she’d seen and heard. ‘I’d say Majidah Rassooli is in good hands.’