The Autumn Tree (DI Bliss Book 8)

by Tony J. Forder

  ‘Then for argument’s sake, let’s say it is them. My argument still stands.’

  ‘Surely between us and the NCA we’ve collected enough data to establish precisely what that server’s role was.’

  ‘Raw data, yes. Traffic flowing in and out, yes. Conclusive evidence…? I’m sure the CPS will tell us in due course, once we’ve submitted our MG forms. But think how much happier we’d all be if we had the physical server in our possession, John… Phil. And then think how much happier still we’d be if we were lucky enough to collar the Parkinsons attempting to strip down that same server. While it’s still running, we can continue to both monitor and record it. We can tell if data is being deleted – and let’s assume it will be, ahead of any physical switching off. You two may see that job as plain old dull police work; me, I see it as a vital part of the overall job. A job that had to be done, requiring trustworthy people to do it. I chose you two and Glen Ashton. Not glamorous, I grant you. But potentially critical. I’m sorry you don’t see it that way.’

  Bishop allowed his disappointment in the two DCs to sink in before turning away and nodding in Bliss’s direction. ‘What have you got for us, Jimmy?’

  ‘Our man’s photo, possibly. We think so, at least.’ He explained the circumstances of their find, their search through the folders and the image files themselves. He took the plastic evidence bag containing the chess piece from his pocket and lobbed it underhand to DC Ansari. ‘There’s a photo on there showing the man wearing a fleece. On the fleece is what we think could be a logo. Can’t make it out, though. I was hoping Gul could find us a rabbit hiding somewhere inside the hat.’

  ‘I’ll get to work on it immediately,’ Ansari said, swivelling in her chair, prising open the bag as she turned.

  ‘Look in the Miscellaneous folder. There’s only one image of the man in his fleece.’

  ‘What other dramas have we missed?’ DCI Warburton asked, perhaps hoping to take the pressure down a notch or two with some levity.

  Bliss responded first. ‘I took an interesting call from Belmarsh. The deputy governor himself confidently insisted Drake did not have any external communication or even any internal communication that could have been passed on. Evidently, our visit left him angry enough to draw an isolation stretch.’

  ‘How’s that possible? A contract being put out on Nicola Parkinson within hours of you visiting Drake can’t be a coincidence.’

  ‘That’s precisely what I was thinking. The DG has to have it wrong. Why else would…’ Bliss paused, his train of thought deviating. He saw it then. Saw how they’d been had. ‘The devious cow,’ he whispered.

  ‘Jimmy?’ Bishop squinted at him.

  ‘The DG is right. Drake didn’t order a hit on Parkinson.’

  ‘So who did?’

  ‘Nobody.’

  The room fell into silence for a few seconds, before Chandler said, ‘You want to elaborate on that?’

  He nodded. ‘If we’re right, and Nicola Parkinson has been running Drake’s operation in his absence, there has to be a communication pathway between the two of them. He didn’t contact her after we met with him – he did it before we arrived. He wanted to find out why we were driving down there to speak with him, so he contacted her. I’m betting the idea of us being in the same room as him scared her half to death.’

  ‘Of course,’ Chandler said. ‘She had to know we’d be talking to him about this case, that we’d mention Dark Desires and her, possibly even in the same breath.’

  Bliss went on. ‘She made sure word reached the streets about a contract being taken out on her, which she later used as an excuse to have it on her toes. We’re sitting here thinking she and her brood went into hiding because they were scared of being hit, when all the time they’re on the run from us – and Drake, ultimately.’

  It all slotted together perfectly. Bliss knew it did. And so did everyone else in the room. The team reunited in that moment, disagreements forgotten. They discussed it at length, dissecting the theory and finding no reason not to take it forward as a genuine hypothesis. It was as good as any other, and better than most. Bishop called for hush and waited for the room to fall silent once more before speaking to the team as a whole.

  ‘If Jimmy is right – and I think he probably is – it changes only one component of the case: we no longer have to put resources into tracing a contract killer, or attempting to link it back to Lewis Drake. The fact is, for whatever reason, the Parkinsons are still gone and we don’t know where or how to find them. We have to double our efforts, hammer every CHIS harder still, because somebody out there has to know where they went, or at least be able to give us some ideas. Agreed?’

  A general murmur of acceptance rippled around the room. Bliss nodded along with them. ‘But leaving them and that aspect of Phoenix aside, finding Abbi Turner remains our prime objective. I’m of the opinion that we commit most of our remaining resources to her. I seriously don’t believe the Parkinsons can help us with that side of things; accessing that bloody server might, though. We can’t know what’s on there, but if there’s even the slightest chance of our man’s details being on that machine or in its data in the cloud or wherever, we need to find it.’

  Although some faces turned to Bishop, it was Warburton who stepped into the spotlight. ‘In terms of policy, I remain SIO. Given Bish’s unique position, the decision to make him my deputy provided him with the opportunity to experience a senior investigative role for the first time. As such, I’ve allowed him to run with it, keeping my supervision to a minimum and mostly in the background. I trust each of you will join me in congratulating him on a job well done so far. I listened closely to everything both he and Jimmy had to say, and I can genuinely tell you all that I would not change a single thing. Please, everyone, do continue. Let’s have these bastards.’

  Satisfied that Bishop had command of both the investigation and the room, Bliss took the opportunity to cut out. His task was no emergency, but it was still something he had to take care of. As he took the stairs down to the ground floor, he heard footsteps in the stairwell above him. He was out in the car park by the time his pursuer caught up.

  ‘Where are you off to, Pen?’ he asked, curious as to why Chandler was leaving at the same time as him.

  ‘I have no idea. You tell me.’

  ‘What?’

  ‘Diane told me I should keep an eye on you. She implied there was a chance you might be working off the books, and suggested I become your shadow.’

  Bliss blinked and moistened his lips. ‘No offence, but that’s not going to happen,’ he said adamantly. ‘This is one you have to stay out of.’

  ‘Which tells me there’s something to stay out of. So of course I’m not about to do any such thing.’ Chandler crossed her arms and stared at him.

  ‘Pen, I’m ordering you to return to the unit.’

  ‘You can’t order me. You’re not my DI at the moment. I can flap two fingers at you all day long and there’s bugger all you can do about it. But Diane is my DCI, and her order was firm and clear.’

  He shook his head again. ‘This is not something you want to be involved with. We can tell her you stuck to me like glue if you want, but that’s not how we’re going to do things.’

  He walked across to his car, but when he got in, Chandler slid into the passenger seat alongside him. Looking straight ahead she said, ‘This is happening, Jimmy. Deal with it. Whatever it is, I’m along for the ride.’

  ***

  The pair shared a booth with Detective Sergeant Paul Nicholls in a coffee bar at Huntingdon railway station, literally opposite the Hinchingbrooke Cambridgeshire Constabulary HQ in which Nicholls worked. He was already sipping a coffee when they got there. The man looked wary upon seeing Chandler with Bliss, but seemingly neither irritated nor angered by the topic of the conversation they were about to have. Bliss bought himself a Coke and his partner a still water before settling in.

  ‘Tell me how this became your problem,’ Nicholls said,
savouring his latte.

  Bliss was ready and responded without pause. ‘The moment Watson came to live on my manor, he became my problem.’

  ‘Not if he didn’t do anything wrong.’

  ‘Something we both know is not true.’

  ‘Something we both suspect is not true, Jimmy.’

  ‘If you say so. I know better; you do, too. That might be the official line, but you, your entire team, the CPS… you all know he killed that poor kid.’

  ‘Prove it.’ Nicholls shoved his drink to one side and folded his arms. ‘Because that was the task I had.’

  Bliss noted the resentment. He would have felt the same way had another detective followed up on one of his cases and insinuated himself into it long after it had been closed. ‘Like I told you before, this is nothing against you or the way you ran your investigation. You didn’t have the evidence I have. It’s that simple.’

  ‘Then tell me. Fire away, Jimmy. Let’s have the great DI Bliss show me what I missed and where we at Hinchingbrooke went wrong.’

  Bliss swallowed half his drink before responding. ‘There you go again. Get over yourself, Harvey. You didn’t miss it. And it’s “the great DS Bliss” if you want to be entirely accurate. Look, George Moss alibied Watson. That meant you had to draw back and attempt to charge Watson with having contributed to the boy’s fragile condition.’

  ‘Yeah. We argued that his constant beatings had left the kid with a skull weakness. CPS told us we had no case. Not one they were prepared to lose, given the mother had already admitted to everything and claimed Watson never touched her son. That alone tainted any clinical observations.’

  ‘Right. So you know it’s him, but justice gives you the finger. Only, how much of that changes if George Moss admits he and Watson never spent that evening and night together? What if he says Watson put him up to it, having turned up at his place in a manic state, his hands and clothes covered in blood?’

  Nicholls put a hand to his mouth before slowly stroking his chin. ‘Has he made a statement to this effect?’

  Bliss shook his head. ‘Not yet. He wants assurances that I can’t give him. He needs you to protect him from the time he makes his statement until the time Watson gets found guilty. Without that, he sticks to his original story.’

  ‘I can do that. What made him change his mind?’

  ‘Persuasion.’

  Nicholls grinned and raised his eyebrows. ‘Of the gentle variety?’

  ‘Is there any other kind?’ Bliss said.

  The man’s face brightened, but swiftly became bemused. ‘How the bloody hell did you do this, Jimmy? How did you even find him to begin with?’

  ‘I have my ways. It’s immaterial to the case, because I have nothing to do with it. None of it came from me. That’s how this plays out: I give you his address, you pull him. You give him what he needs, he gives you what you want.’

  ‘He’ll stand up in court?’

  Bliss nodded. ‘He will. I have him thinking of Watson as a man he wants out of his life before Watson begins to think of him in the same way. But don’t hang about, Harvey. Scoop him up while he’s still nervy. I don’t want him to do a runner.’

  After a moment, Nicholls said, ‘This won’t all fall apart on me, will it, Jimmy?’

  ‘How d’you mean?’

  ‘I mean if he screams coercion.’

  Bliss scratched at the scar on his forehead. He had a quick look around to make sure they couldn’t be overheard, but the place was far from heaving. ‘George Moss is a stain on humanity’s arse. If he says I leaned on him, he may well be telling the truth. But nobody has to believe him. Anyway, he’s guilty of providing a false alibi; if I coerced that out of him, so be it. The main thing is, any statement he provides to you will be under the watchful eye and ear of a duty solicitor. My name needn’t even crop up. Moss is fully aware of what’s at stake, Harvey. All you have to do is walk him through it.’

  Nicholls chewed on his lip for a moment, then glanced at Chandler. ‘And what’s your involvement here, Penny? I realise we don’t know each other well, but this doesn’t seem like the kind of thing you’d be a party to.’

  ‘Jimmy gave me the details on the drive over. So far, that and this conversation is the extent of my knowledge. The way I see it, neither he nor I are here. That leaves you and this Moss character to work out your own story. Seems to me it’s a win-win for you.’

  Nodding and turning back to Bliss, Nicholls said, ‘So why exactly are you handing this to me on a plate? Why not bring them both in yourself?’

  Bliss did not have to consider his answer for long. ‘Because I know what a kick in the balls this case must have been for you and your team, Harvey. Hard to swallow when they turn out the way this one did. Kind of case that does things to your mind, keeps you up at night. Maybe even breaks you over time. There are less altruistic reasons why it’s probably best for me to steer well clear, but ultimately I’m giving it to you because you deserve it. Hopefully it’ll be one less ghost to follow you around.’

  Nicholls sat back in the cheap padded bench seat and blew out his cheeks. ‘I don’t know what to say, Jimmy.’

  Bliss was okay with that. ‘Then say nothing. Just listen while I tell you where to find him, and the precise details of the deal he and I struck. Your lot can pull him and take it from there. Seeing Watson nailed will be all the thanks I need.’

  ‘You think Moss backing off his alibi will be enough?’

  Bliss grinned, having saved the best for last. ‘You remember I told you Moss’s revised story? About how Watson had turned up at his place that night of the murder, his clothes smothered in blood?’

  ‘Yeah. That’s still only hearsay from a man who’s already lied to the court.’

  ‘True. But keep your eyes on the prize, Harvey. The clothes. Watson had Moss destroy them. Only… something must have told Moss that one day he might need some leverage of his own.’

  Nicholls stared at him, eyes wide and disbelieving. ‘You don’t mean…’

  ‘Yes, I do. Not only did Moss not destroy them – he didn’t even get rid of them. They’ve been tucked away inside a vacuum-sealed bag, which is currently wrapped in a duvet and stored in his airing cupboard. I know, because I’ve seen them.’

  ‘And the blood on them isn’t going to be only his, either.’

  Bliss shook his head. ‘Not a chance,’ he said.

  Forty-Two

  On the first three occasions that he put her to work, the man she knew as Des dragged her from what she had come to regard as her prison cell and led her out into the daylight, across a broken stone courtyard populated by weeds, to a rectangular static mobile home. Each time, he first paused to slip a leather collar around her neck; this was attached to a sturdy chain lead with a leather strap festooned with metal studs at the end. Although he did not force her to walk on all fours like the animal he was treating her as, humiliation burned her cheeks all the same. Once inside the prefabricated home, he brought her into a room so small the double bed inside almost filled it.

  What she glimpsed of the rest of the house appeared clean and tidy – as Des himself had always been. Yet this room reeked, a foul stench of dirt and squalor combined with stale sweat and something sweet and cloying. It made her gag and recoil. As he slipped the lead off that first time, Des cupped her chin in one of his big hands. Gone from his gaze was any pretence of affection, or even lust. Instead he regarded her with pure disdain.

  ‘Behave,’ he said. ‘You do that and I might throw you a treat when you’re done.’

  Abbi no longer asked him why he was doing this to her. She’d long accepted his mute disinterest on that subject. All she could do was continue to berate herself as she wandered the dank corridors of her own mind. How had she missed the lack of humanity in those eyes? How had she failed to realise who and what this man truly was? What he was capable of?

  On that first day after she had come around, she guessed he must have taken her so that he could later have
her by force – and to do so whenever he pleased now that she was being held prisoner. Compliance seemingly no longer fulfilled his baser needs. The desire for control was a part of it; that much was apparent. But she had never once imagined his darker reason for the abduction until that first encounter in the tiny bedroom, where the man she had seen earlier in her dark cell waited for her on the bed.

  The man who raped her that day, and the two who followed, choking her as they carried out their sordid and despicable act, seemed to also get off on her being treated like an animal. Kept locked away inside a brick cage, having to wear a collar when she was removed from it, the lead hooked up to her so casually, as if she had become Des’s pet. Her master taking her for a walk, the culmination of which delivered her into the hands of others of his kind.

  Abbi dwelt on this after each humiliation. It was hard to imagine anything more degrading for a human being. Any remaining morsel of self-respect she might have had prior to her abduction had been drained away by each subsequent encounter with the lead – more so than the rape and the choking. They were at least acts with which she was familiar; the dregs of human experience, perhaps, but human for all that. All she felt after those first three men was an emptiness inside that she knew would never be filled again.

  But the fourth man didn’t want the animal show in the bedroom; instead, he took her while she remained in the bricks-and-mortar pen, on the thin mattress, cold air trapped inside the thick walls. He’d also been the roughest so far. The previous three had demonstrated their experience, understanding precisely how far they could take her into the warm oblivion, using only their hands to regulate her destiny.

  The other was nearly her last.

  The curious euphoria once again overcame her fear and hostility. But then his hands shifted and the choking became strangulation. Abbi felt panic kick in, the rush of dizziness caused by asphyxiation a dangerous sign her body fought against. He had bound her hands together behind her back, and although she struggled by shifting her body weight and thrusting her head in all directions, he was too strong for her efforts to make any difference.