If Fear Wins (DI Bliss Book 3)

by Tony J. Forder

  ‘I’m not sure if you can help me. If not, perhaps you can point me in the right direction. Thing is, Clare, I think there’s a possibility that someone under PPS, someone deep enough to have had a complete ID package, has been murdered.’

  As he spoke into the phone, Bliss moved into the kitchen. He poured the dregs of his wine into the sink, left the empty glass on the drainer, then pulled open the fridge door and took out a carton of cranberry juice. He took a long pull from it.

  ‘How long ago?’

  Bliss cuffed his lips and grinned. Clare was immediately all business.

  ‘About two weeks. A fortnight Sunday.’

  ‘How long under?’

  ‘Looks as if it could be as much as a decade.’

  She gave a low whistle. ‘In that case, they’re probably on a monthly check-in, maybe even quarterly. Might not have been flagged yet.’

  ‘So what are the chances of you being able to find out?’

  It took a few seconds, but Clare replied, ‘If all you want to know is whether you’re right or wrong, then I think I can find out pretty quickly. I can tell you that and no more without official clearance from above.’

  ‘You mean God?’

  ‘Yeah, like you believe in God. Mind you, might as well be. The bosses you find around here these days aren’t a patch on those who have moved on.’

  ‘Is that a compliment, Clare?’

  She laughed. ‘Don’t get ahead of yourself. Anyhow, like I say, if you’re happy to live with a yes or no at this stage then I can get it done.’

  Bliss settled for whatever he could get. He gave the name, address and birthdate. Clare promised she would get back to him in thirty minutes. The juice had not slaked his thirst. He was all out of Budvar, so he took a Samuel Adams Boston Lager from the fridge, uncapped, took a deep swallow and forced himself to relax. His guts were churning. If Simon Curtis had been under police protection, then Bliss’s interference was bound to come to light. He could only imagine how Fletcher and Edwards would feel about that, his DCI in particular. He wouldn’t detonate that bridge behind him just yet, but it was an unappealing prospect.

  Dunphy improved on her forecast by ten minutes. ‘Jimmy, where did you get this information from?’ she asked. Bliss heard an undercurrent in her voice.

  He provided a brief explanation, including his previous relationship with Emily Grant many years before the marriage to Curtis. ‘What is it, Clare?’ he asked. ‘What have you found out?’

  ‘First of all, he’s not one of ours. You have to trust me on that, Jimmy. I have no reason to hide it from you.’

  ‘Okay. But ..?’

  ‘So I asked a favour of a friend, who looked up this fellow of yours. My friend gets back to me and tells me that whilst not with PPS, this Simon Curtis has been flagged as ‘hands off’. Which means that although he’s not one of ours, he may well be someone else’s. You didn’t mention it, but was he foreign?’

  Emily had not spoken about it, either. Even if her husband had been foreign it would probably not have occurred to her that it was something Bliss might need to know. ‘I have no idea,’ he admitted. ‘It’s possible, and I can find out in the morning if it helps.’

  ‘It won’t. I’m just raising it as a possibility, Jimmy. See, depending on where he might have come from, if Curtis is under the protection of a foreign police force, then they are not obliged to inform us. It’s a common courtesy we would expect, but the Americans and South Africans often don’t. It’s a matter of trust. And even though we have a great reputation for keeping our charges safe unless our protectees give themselves away, some nations believe the best way to maintain security protocols is to keep it to themselves.’

  Bliss allowed time for that to percolate. Eventually he said, ‘Okay, just so’s I know I’m understanding this correctly, Clare. If Curtis was being protected by non-UK PPS, there is no way you nor anyone else in the NCA can find that out.’

  ‘Not through channels, Jimmy. Of course, when two officers from different agencies talk then sometimes information gets exchanged. But legally, no. Sorry, my friend.’

  It was not what he wanted to hear. But to echo a saying he did not much like, it was what it was. As much as his heart ached for Emily, he had taken things as far as he possibly could.

  26

  Sam Phillips, supported by his children, Sam Jr and Samantha, were responsible for most of the weed that was sold in the city of Peterborough and its surrounding villages. At the start of the decade they had briefly flirted with pushing harder drugs, but the empire’s patriarch was convinced that, whilst peddling cannabis required more effort to make the same kind of profit that meth provided, life was much easier when dealing with the fallout.

  Bliss was in the mood to ruin that myth for them all that morning as he and Chandler made their way to Newborough, which lay just off the A16 on the way to Crowland. The five-bedroom house in Milking Nook was only fifteen years old, built by the Phillips’ building company Sam had inherited from his father, Richard. It was only when the old man died that Sam extended the family business into the illegal trade of drugs, and was apparently doing very well for himself on the back of it. Bliss despised drug dealers with a fierce, burning passion, reserving his ire most of all for those who took no responsibility for their part in ruining young lives. According to Chandler, the Phillips family fit the bill perfectly.

  It was Sam Jr who opened the front door to them at 9.05am that Saturday morning. He wore a T-shirt and jogging bottoms, was puffy-eyed and his shoulder-length hair hung wild and unkempt, sticking up at all kind of angles. At the sight of their warrant cards, Jr rolled his eyes and slammed the door on them. They heard him call out, informing his father that ‘the filth’ were paying a visit.

  ‘He must mean us,’ Bliss said.

  Chandler nodded. ‘You would assume so.’

  ‘More you than me if I had to guess.’

  ‘Funny, I saw it exactly the opposite way.’

  The heavy composite door was dragged open, almost off its hinges. Sam Phillips stood there, suited and booted and clearly not in the mood for them if his twisted mouth and blazing eyes were anything to go by.

  ‘What the fuck do you two clowns want?’ he demanded.

  ‘And good morning to you, too, sir,’ Bliss said. ‘Detectives Koko and Krusty would like a word.’

  ‘Very amusing.’ The look on his face suggested otherwise. Phillips was a big man. Tall, wide, stout, with a full head of grey-white hair and a tanned, leathery complexion lined way beyond its fifty-eight years of neglect. The lines on his forehead seemed to triple in both volume and depth as he frowned. ‘Hold on, you’re not from the drug unit.’

  ‘No. Major crimes. We’d like a chat, Mr Phillips.’

  He waved a huge, meaty hand in their faces. ‘I don’t have time for that. I’m on my way to a meeting.’

  ‘Mensa?’ Bliss suggested.

  ‘Well, aren’t you a funny fucker? What’s going on, why are you on my doorstep trying to rattle my cage?’

  Bliss took a half step closer, looking up at Phillips and matching his narrow gaze. ‘You began by swearing at me and my colleague and calling us clowns, and then you dismiss us as if we’re nothing. You want me to play nice with you after that?’

  ‘Listen, I–’

  ‘No, you listen!’ Bliss stabbed a finger into the man’s chest. ‘You can either spare us ten minutes now or I make your life and the lives of your entire family unbearable for the next six months. Whatever you do, Mr Phillips, don’t expect me to show the likes of you one iota of respect. You haven’t earned it.’

  Phillips took a half step back, glaring at Bliss. ‘You can’t come to my home and talk to me like that,’ he said, his voice rising in both pitch and volume.

  To Bliss it sounded more than a little whiny. ‘You’ll be astonished at what I can do if I put my mind to it,’ he said. ‘So what’s it to be? Chat now or fucked about later?’

  ‘Well, you’re not coming inside.
’

  ‘What, no tea and hobnobs?’ Chandler said, pouting. ‘Not much of a host are you, sir?’

  The man shook his head and breathed heavily. His entire frame seemed to rattle. He stepped outside, pulling the front door closed behind him. ‘Ten minutes,’ he said, as if somehow reasserting some kind of authority.

  Bliss decided to let up on him. The dealer’s immediate antagonism towards him and Chandler had put his back up, which is why he’d given the man a hard time. Not that his illegal business dealings didn’t warrant it.

  ‘Tell me what you know about Duncan?’ Bliss said. This time he watched Phillips’s face closely, searching for some recognition in the eyes, maybe a facial tic.

  There was nothing. No tell.

  ‘Duncan…?’ Phillips shook his head. ‘Am I supposed to know what you’re talking about?’

  Bliss nodded, undeterred. ‘Yes. Duncan Livingston. One of your latest street dealers. You know the young man, buys in bulk from you, and sells it on at a small profit.’

  ‘I haven’t the foggiest idea what you’re blathering on about.’ Phillips puffed up his chest and crossed his arms. Defensive now, but unmoved by the name as far as Bliss could tell.

  ‘In what way? About Duncan or the dealing?’

  ‘Both. Neither. Don’t know anything about drug dealing, and I don’t know a Duncan Livingston. Can’t say I have ever known anyone called Duncan.’

  ‘Drug dealing?’ Bliss frowned, turned to Chandler, then back to Phillips. ‘Did I mention anything about drugs?’

  Phillips closed his eyes. Another deep breath. Another rattle from deep inside his chest. ‘I haven’t got time to play silly buggers. Look, I meant no offence when I first opened the door. I don’t know you two, I shouldn’t have mouthed off like that. You know the score on me, I know you know. I’m a big-time drug dealer, apparently, yet I’ve never been done for it. So I’m clean, not that you people will let me get on with my life. So whatever this bee is you’ve got in your bonnet about some bloke called Duncan, it’s got sweet FA to do with me.’

  The man shifted ground and held up his hands. Bliss gave a sigh of frustration. Whatever Sam Phillips was into, whatever Duncan Livingston had been into, the two had not crossed paths. Bliss was as certain of that as he could be. He had thrown the dice and lost.

  ‘This is a nice place,’ he said, looking around at the house and its immediate surroundings. ‘Do your neighbours know what you do for a living, Mr Phillips?’

  ‘I doubt it. We keep ourselves to ourselves.’

  Bliss nodded. ‘Half the local kids are probably customers.’

  ‘I do hope so.’

  ‘Well, you’re on my radar now. I didn’t know anything about you before today, but I’m going to make it my business to know a lot more about you in the future.’

  ‘That’s harassment,’ Phillips said, his face creasing into a snarl.

  ‘That’s life,’ Bliss responded. ‘Now that you’ve crossed me.’

  ‘How did I cross you? What did I do to you?’

  ‘You’re smug, You’re arrogant. You think you’re untouchable. That’s more than enough to be getting on with. Have a good one, sir. Make the most of it.’

  Driving back into the city, Bliss reviewed the case piece by piece with his partner. When they were done, Chandler looked across at him and said, ‘You’re still convinced this is only meant to look like terrorism rather than being an actual act of terrorism?’

  ‘I am. I also notice nobody has claimed it yet, either.’

  ‘Perhaps they’re not part of a group, like ISIS or similar. Maybe they’re a bunch of first-timers, a trio banded together to take out a member of the armed forces.’

  ‘Only shy about publicity.’

  ‘Good point,’ Chandler said, with a nod. ‘If you were going to go to all that trouble, I expect you’d want to shout it from the rooftops.’

  The conversation veered back to their part of the operation. Bliss admitted he was no longer convinced about the potential connection with drugs. ‘I know it was my suggestion in the first place,’ he said. ‘But that was before I got to learn more about our victim. Somehow, him and drugs just don’t feel right. Plus, no feedback at all from the streets. Not a single mention of his name. How likely is that?’

  ‘But then we come back around to his claims about promotion and extra income,’ Chandler argued.

  ‘Yes. We do. And there’s no getting over that. I’m sure he was covering. I’m just not sure what for.’

  The more Bliss reached for answers the more he felt himself drifting backwards. The one lead they had was false. He had made his mind up about that and would not be shaken from it without some irrefutable evidence proving otherwise. The problem was, that left them with nothing. Speculation, the same tired old fallbacks. Yet every aspect of this case came across as anything but stale. Bliss felt sure that the lengths taken to cover up the killing of Flying Officer Livingston were about more than the murder itself. He believed it was designed to throw the police off the scent of something else entirely. Something the three bogus Jihadists were involved with alongside the airman.

  Like Ouroboros, the symbol of the snake eating its own tail, Bliss’s train of thought followed the shape of infinity and hit the buffers where it began: at drugs. Whilst he did not believe it was the way to go, he could not entirely ignore it, either. There were no other paths to take, not even one far less travelled.

  ‘You seeing your parents this weekend?’ he asked, changing the subject in order to shift the mood. The case was dragging him down.

  Chandler smiled. ‘This afternoon. My brother is visiting from Kent and we’re meeting up at Mum and Dad’s place. It’ll be nice to get together again. Tomorrow is all mine. I’m cleaning the flat and bagging some clothes for charity. What is life if not for living, eh?’

  Bliss laughed. ‘At least it will take your mind off this shit. I’ll probably go into the office in the morning as well, but not for long. I have so much admin to catch up on.’

  ‘I could meet you for a drink and a bite to eat tomorrow lunchtime if you like.’

  He was about to agree when he remembered Emily. He thought she might stay the whole weekend until she had rationalised her fear of returning home. Bliss did not want to get into that sort of discussion right now with his partner. Chandler would want to know everything, and he would feel compelled to dish it up. It wasn’t that he particularly wanted to exclude her, it was more a case of delaying doing so. Not only was he wary of including her in the deceptions that were going on, but he also knew exactly what Chandler would think about him having the Bone Woman staying at his house. Those were matters best left for another day.

  ‘I’ll see how I get on,’ Bliss said. ‘Once I get started at the office I may plough on through it. If I get away at a decent hour I’ll call you. How about that?’

  ‘Fine with me,’ Chandler replied, nodding absently as she stared out of the nearside window.

  The road was clear. Fields on both sides stretched out across the flat land, various shades of green other than those sown with malt. Ahead, just beyond a copse of oaks, rose a church spire, thrusting into the deep blue sky. Bliss enjoyed driving in the countryside. Generally he found it to be a relaxing experience. They were about to skirt the village of Eye, approaching the city once again and breaking the spell.

  Back at Thorpe Wood, the pair were climbing the stairs up from the ground floor when they encountered Superintendent Fletcher on her way down.

  ‘Productive morning so far?’ she asked.

  ‘Afraid not, ma’am,’ Bliss said. ‘Other than adding another scrote to my shit list. How was your meeting?’ He knew that the Super had met with the extended group once again.

  ‘Frustrating. Munday declined to join the discussion for a good thirty minutes, so I kept prodding at him with questions. Eventually he deigned to open up a little. Actually, whilst he seems to agree with your take on things, Inspector, he is at the same time ensuring that local mon
itoring is stepped up, and has also put undercover assets back on the streets. He was at pains to point out that, whilst there are some three thousand people on the higher watch list, only between fifty and sixty are under full-time surveillance at any given time. None in this area, though apparently we do have around a hundred subjects on the list living in or around the city. That figure surprised me, I have to say. I really ought to have been more on top of the subject.’

  ‘You can’t be expected to know everything, ma’am,’ Chandler said. ‘It’s not as if Peterborough is the hub of terrorism in the country.’

  ‘No, but still… Once you know something like that, it does make you sit back and ask why it comes as news to you.’

  ‘I think the problem is that politicians and other senior figures often talk in terms of percentages, ma’am. It’s only when hard numbers are discussed that you realise the extent of the issue.’

  ‘Sergeant Chandler makes a good point,’ Bliss said. ‘You say one per cent, the number sounds small. You say one hundred, suddenly the entire complexion changes. You’re being hard on yourself if I may say so, ma’am. But I guess that comes with the rank.’

  Fletcher nodded. ‘And so it should. Anyhow, there are a lot of eggshells for us to walk on right now, and we’re all doing our level best not to make a bad situation even worse. Munday insists MI5 are taking this seriously, but are seeing no impending threat. As I said, Inspector, they are of the opinion that this was not an act of terror. That said, they are on high alert should they be proven wrong.’

  ‘How did the meeting end?’

  ‘Much the same as the last one. We are unified, we remain watchful and compassionate, but determined to see this through to its rightful conclusion. We’ll all be happy to see Five pack their bags, of course, but that will only happen when we have all the facts to hand. We may not need to have the perpetrators in custody, we just have to know who and what they are.’

  Bliss nodded. ‘We’re doing our part. And we’ll keep at it.’