If Fear Wins

by Tony J. Forder

  The road traffic division was situated on the ground floor at Thorpe Wood, and the Road Traffic Collision team took up a couple of offices within that division. Bliss nodded a greeting to a couple of other uniforms as he made his way through the area, before knocking on the RP’s closed office door.

  McGeechan was of average height and weight, with a spray of freckles across his face and arms exposed by rolled-up shirt sleeves. Whatever hair he had was fine, tinged an ochre shade of red, with a sweep over that wasn’t fooling anyone. He looked up and peered owlishly through rimless spectacles at Bliss as he entered. After a few brief introductions, and the offer of a coffee which Bliss declined, the two men got down to it.

  ‘So, what can I do for you, Inspector?’

  McGeechan was a sergeant, but Bliss had no desire to even try pulling rank to obtain the information he sought. He explained his interest in the Simon Curtis incident, and politely requested an informal review of the findings so far. Thankfully, the RP was both affable and willing to show his cards.

  ‘It was an ugly scene, that’s for sure,’ McGeechan said. He shook his head at the memory, eyes clouding over as if he could still see it. ‘There wasn’t a whole lot of Mr Curtis’s body left in one piece. And what he did to the poor unsuspecting driver of the car he landed on was both catastrophic and instantaneous.’

  ‘Fortunate that it didn’t cause other serious collisions, I suppose,’ Bliss offered, attempting to strike up a bond between two cops who have seen it all.

  ‘That’s true enough. Anyhow, whilst our working theory is that Curtis jumped, taking his own life, we really have no concrete evidence either way. No witnesses have come forward to say they saw Curtis himself immediately prior to him going off that bridge. The remains apparently offer nothing conclusive to suggest he was forced over the rail, toxicology would not suggest he was drunk or drugged enough to accidentally tumble over. So, whilst it has all the appearances of a suicide, it could just as easily be misadventure or, conceivably, murder.’

  Bliss blew out a breath. He wasn’t entirely sure what decision would be preferable, certainly not where Emily was concerned. But provided suicide remained off the formal records she would at least be able to request a further look into her husband’s death.

  ‘Thank you, Sergeant. I appreciate the candour. So your experience and gut tells you he jumped, but you can’t provide the evidence to back that up. That about right?’

  McGeechan nodded. ‘Spot on. I’m still waiting for dribbles of forensics to come back, but I’m not expecting anything to alter what I’m seeing right now.’

  ‘You’ll let me know if that changes?’

  ‘Sure. Must be something about that bridge. I wasn’t here at the time, but apparently one of your lot took himself off that same bridge ten or twelve years ago.’

  ‘I remember it well.’

  ‘You do?’ McGeechan’s eyes flared. ‘I thought you only posted here last year.’

  Bliss nodded. ‘My second time in the city. Bobby Dunne was the DS who jumped that night, and I was his DI. He’d just attempted to shoot me after I’d exposed him as a murderer.’

  The RP stared at him for a few seconds, mouth agape. Then he sighed and hung his head. ‘Me and my big mouth. I’m so sorry, Inspector.’

  ‘It’s no problem.’

  It was, of course. Always would be. Having uncovered Dunne’s complicity in murder and corruption that involved a number of other experienced and influential officers, Bliss had lured Dunne to that location near the bridge over the A1(M), had forced his sergeant’s hand, but had failed to ensure Dunne remained inside the vehicle. Realising his life as he knew it was over, Dunne had opted to take it by jumping from the bridge and hitting the road scant seconds before an articulated lorry slammed into his crushed and crumpled body. Of all the regrets in his life, this one featured highly in Bliss’s thoughts. Or had done. He had no time for such wallowing these days. Certainly it was not something he allowed to dominate his thoughts for too long anymore.

  Bliss shook it off. For now. About to leave, something popped into his head. ‘Did you happen to find his vehicle anywhere nearby?’ he asked.

  McGeechan arched his eyebrows. ‘Vehicle?’

  ‘Yes. That bridge is hardly the kind of place you’d really walk to from anywhere. If his wheels were not parked up there, then it begs the question as to how he got to the bridge.’

  ‘It does indeed. And you’re right, Inspector Bliss, you’d expect to find a vehicle close by and we didn’t. Something to follow up with Mrs Curtis.’

  ‘I’ll do so if you like. I’m going to update her anyway, so I could ask about her husband’s car. Unless you’d rather make it formal?’

  McGeechan said nothing for a few moments, before pursing his lips and shaking his head. ‘No, you fill your boots, Inspector. Just drop me a mail with her response, would you please. I’m keen to know myself.’

  ‘Of course. Appreciate it, Sarge.’

  Bliss thanked McGeechan for the information and headed back up to his office. He hadn’t eaten anything since breakfast, and though hungry he had little appetite to actually consume anything more substantial than a couple of Twix bars that he bought from a vending machine. It would be fuel at most, and he decided to pick something up on his way home. With his team having left for the night, Bliss took some time for himself to sit and soak up the silence, pondering what to do about the information he had for Emily.

  On the plus side, it was obvious to Bliss that Curtis’s death was not going to be ruled a suicide, and death by misadventure was not on the cards either. The negative had to be the fact that the incident would almost certainly not be investigated as a crime, given the complete lack of foundation or evidentiary support. What Emily would take from that was suicide in all but name.

  Such were the circumstances of Curtis’s demise that no positive verdict was possible. A witness might yet come along, someone who may have seen the man wandering back and forth across the bridge before leaping to his death. Or a vehicle pulling up on the bridge, dragging Curtis from it and tossing him onto the road below. Both seemed highly unlikely at this stage. But without that firm evidence one way or another, the coroner would have little choice but to leave the matter open. And Bliss would have little choice but to reveal the truth to Emily.

  He mentally ticked things off. Having spoken to both the lead investigator and pathologist, there was nobody else to interview. Nowhere left to turn. It did not appear to amount to much detective work, but the truth of the matter was that Bliss was in the hands of other specialists. If they could not either confirm or deny the suicide verdict, there remained little more for him to do.

  Bliss wanted to help; his feelings for Emily Grant had never been in question, but they had both moved on and he now had to decide how far he was willing to go in pursuit of a crime that had almost certainly never occurred.

  14

  It was gone nine by the time he got home, half past when he’d finished his takeaway pie with chips and a chilled bottle of Budvar from the fridge. He had eaten his food reluctantly, and having pushed it around the plate for what felt like ages, he finally pushed it aside with more than half still on the plate. Bliss sat in his armchair, staring out of the doors at the illuminated garden, its lighting bathing the plants and rocks in a cool shade of blue and creating shadows that were at once benign and dynamic. The fingers of his right hand absently toyed with Emily Curtis’s business card. His courtesy cut-off point for making personal calls had come and gone, but he felt sure that Emily would not mind hearing from him at any hour if it concerned her husband. He debated with himself for a further few minutes before reaching for the phone.

  Emily picked up before the third ring had died. Bliss took his time explaining everything he had done so far, including who he had spoken to, gradually easing into the meat of the conversation which he knew would not please the woman he still had feelings for.

  After a moment’s pause, Emily said, ‘So while neithe
r the lead investigator nor the pathologist can provide any firm proof that Simon’s death was self-inflicted, they are both of the opinion that it was.’

  ‘That’s about the long and short of it, yes,’ Bliss agreed. ‘In their expert opinion, it remains the most likely cause. The problem being that once the official verdict is announced, which is most likely to be either open or misadventure, I’m not sure there is much chance of you being able to force through a follow-up investigation. Initially I thought you might, but the more I think about it, the less convinced I am.’

  ‘But if my husband didn’t kill himself, then it stands to reason that he was murdered.’

  ‘And I understand why you would think that way, Emily. I really do. But for the police to spend time and money on looking into your claim they would have to be convinced that there was a case to investigate. One conversation with the lead investigator would almost certainly mean that would lead nowhere. Whilst there is no evidence of a suicide, neither is there any to indicate murder. The absence of evidence cannot be taken as a signal to broaden the investigation, not without support from the lead.’

  ‘Are… are you not able to convince the investigators, Jimmy?’

  Bliss heard the hesitation and reluctance in Emily’s voice. She would not want to try and lead him, but by this stage she probably felt as if she had no other choice. Whatever hope she clung to was now slipping from her grasp.

  ‘Not a chance.’ Bliss shook his head at an empty room. ‘I don’t know the man personally, so there’s no influence there. From what I know of him, he’s an officer who takes the job seriously and operates by the book. If he recommends an investigation based on non-existent evidence, his bosses will be all over him like a rash. It would never get past them. They would shut him down, and he would have thrown a spanner into his own career wheel.’

  ‘So that’s it? There’s nothing more to be done?’

  Bliss heard the desperation in Emily’s voice. Devastation, also. He felt it was time to shit or get off the pot. Either he dropped it there and left Emily to try and figure out a way of continuing on her own, or he ignored the sane voices in his head and volunteered to do precisely what he should not do at any price.

  ‘Officially,’ he said, closing his eyes and accepting his weakness. ‘But… there are avenues I can explore myself, in my own time.’ Yeah, but not without misusing official resources!

  ‘And you’re willing to do that for me, Jimmy?’

  No!

  ‘Yes, I am.’

  Won’t that cause problems for you at work?’

  Yes!

  ‘No. Not necessarily. Look, Emily, there’s no doubt that I will have to be cautious, and there’s a limit to the type and volume of data I can access without arousing suspicion from a boss who hates my guts. However, there are things I can do, and will do. I have to warn you, though, it may not take us where you would like it to lead and, to be honest, you may not care for it if it does.’

  ‘What do you mean by that?’ Emily sounded concerned now, her voice catching in her throat.

  ‘Think about it. If your husband’s death was neither accidental nor self-inflicted, then you have to wonder who wanted him dead and why. I’ve been doing this job a long time now, and the answers to those two questions are never normally positive in any way, shape or form. When you go digging, Emily, you can never know for certain what you will unearth. Believe me, I know that to be true.’

  ‘I suppose I have been so focussed on proving it wasn’t suicide that I hadn’t fully considered the repercussions if I was proven correct.’

  ‘Then I’d suggest it’s about time to do that now, Emily. If you want me to pursue this as far as I am able, you only have to say the word. But you have to be prepared for the worst, and know that you will be able to cope with whatever I learn. Understand and accept that there are some rocks you should never overturn.’

  Bliss could hear Emily breathe, behind which he felt certain he could detect a soft sobbing. Realisation of what exactly a further investigation might open up had led to a fresh welling of tears. He doubted Emily was in the right frame of mind to be receptive enough at the moment to think clearly, but this was a woman determined to prove her husband had not killed himself. No matter what the cost.

  ‘Please do this for me,’ she said eventually. As he had known she would.

  ‘I will,’ Bliss told her, his voice gentle and contemplative.

  His best guess was that things were about to get ugly again.

  15

  It was 11.27pm when Bliss’s mobile chirped. A text from DCI Edwards, demanding his immediate return to the station. Bliss responded with a curt text of his own. Briefly he contemplated driving over in his casual clothes, but decided instead to slide back into the suit he had been wearing all day, albeit with a clean, fresh shirt. As a token gesture of defiance he left the tie behind.

  The first stirrings in Bliss’s gut began when he was directed into the incident room rather than the DCI’s office. That indicated either his entire team had been summoned in from home, or Edwards had some serious company. As he pushed open the door, he immediately saw that it was the latter. In addition to Edwards, the Detective Superintendent was also seated at three tables pulled together to form a single larger one. Fletcher sat at the head, Edwards to her right. To her left sat two people, neither of whom Bliss recognised. The male looked to be of South Asian or Middle Eastern descent, not far shy of sixty, and sporting a grey beard and moustache. He also wore heavy, dark-framed spectacles. The woman was a couple of decades younger, Bliss guessed, smartly dressed, raven hair pinned high on her head and no stray wisps. Bliss took them in and felt his stomach lurch; the cat was very much out of the bag, he thought, and probably not in a good way.

  Fletcher got to her feet as Bliss entered the room and closed the door behind him. ‘Thank you for joining us, Inspector,’ she said, as if he’d had any choice in the matter. ‘Apologies for dragging you back in at this unsociable hour, but things have moved on a little since last we spoke.’ The Super swept her arm out, indicating the two visitors. ‘Please, allow me to introduce you to the city Member of Parliament, Judith Haverstock, and Doctor Saif Kirmani, leader of the city Muslim Council.’

  Bliss shook their hands before taking his own seat next to DCI Edwards. His eyes flitted from face to face, all the while keeping his own features neutral. A flush rose into his cheeks making him feel unnaturally warm. His problem was that, as yet, he did not know if he was going to have to think on his feet and lie to these people, or be compelled to reveal investigative strategies and information that would normally never be shared with anyone outside the service. Neither was acceptable to him, and there was a worm burrowing into his head, whispering as it squirmed, insisting that he was already being presented as the sacrificial lamb.

  It was Edwards who spoke next. ‘Inspector Bliss, it would appear that we have a leak somewhere within the department. Only a small number of people had all of the information, yet news of what was captured on the security footage we had investigated by a lip-reader has spread beyond the walls of this police station. Both Ms Haverstock and Doctor Kirmani have subsequently been invited along to this meeting in order for us to discuss both what we know, and also to see if we can reach an agreement as to the way Operation Compound proceeds from this point on.’

  ‘I’m sure you would concur that this situation has the potential to become explosive,’ Haverstock said, regarding Bliss with wide brown eyes and a look just a little too fervent to be taken as open and honest.

  Bliss was thankful that he had opted for the suit, given everyone else in the room was formally attired. He cleared his throat before responding, his hands clasped on the table in front of him.

  ‘In reference to the leak, I can’t say I am surprised. There were doubts about the story issued to the media earlier, and it’s really no wonder that they went digging a little deeper. However, I would argue that it’s quite possible the leak did not come from inside th
is building. The RAF were informed, as was their right to be, and whilst they agreed to wait until the appropriate time for the truth to be revealed publically, it’s possible that someone with access decided to get it out there now. Let’s not forget that both MI5 and the Counter-Terrorism Unit have also been informed, so the small number of people who possessed all of the facts is not so small after all. We can circle back to that at a later date – what’s done is done. As for the situation itself, yes I can imagine all too well how it is likely to be perceived on both sides of the divide.’

  In response to this remark, Kirmani’s head jerked up. ‘I don’t believe using terms such as ‘divide’ will help soothe community fears, Inspector.’

  ‘Perhaps we’re dealing with semantics here,’ Bliss suggested. ‘But are you denying there is a divide?’

  Bliss caught the glare from Edwards on the periphery of his vision, but he had eyes only for the head of the Muslim Council. The man blinked behind his spectacles and sniffed as if a sudden bad odour had attacked his olfactory senses.

  ‘I believe this city has a justifiably proud reputation as a multicultural one,’ Kirmani replied.

  Here we go, Bliss thought, leaning forward. In for a penny… ‘With respect, sir, that didn’t answer my question. I have always believed that nobody can tackle a problem unless that problem is first recognised and accepted. And whilst I would agree that Peterborough is, by and large, a tolerant and compassionate city, to ignore the divisions that most certainly do exist would be foolhardy. Frankly, if even the five of us in this room cannot agree on that basic premise, then what hope do you have for the rest of the city’s inhabitants out there?’