Bad to the Bone

by Tony J. Forder

  Bliss regarded her thoughtfully, eyes narrowing. Emily appeared a much more confident person than the one she had seemed earlier. And there was no doubt that she was extremely pleasant. Her eagerness bothered him a little, though. Involving amateurs in a murder case, no matter how enthusiastic and knowledgeable they might be, carried an element of risk. Experts in crime-related cases learned to look beyond the obvious, but that came only with experience. He hoped he hadn’t made an error in asking Emily Grant to look at the remains for them. Bliss made a mental note to request an official inspection from a Home Office-approved expert. And to find out if the local hospital had anyone available in the short term. Just to be on the safe side.

  ‘Well, I’m beat,’ he admitted, stifling a yawn. ‘You’re both excellent company, but I’m off to grab some beauty sleep.’

  ‘Much needed it is, too,’ Chandler muttered.

  ‘Oh, I don’t know,’ Grant said, chin now resting on steepled fingers. When she’d snared their attention, she added with a teasing smile, ‘Compared to what we saw in that shallow grave earlier, he’s not so bad.’

  They said their goodbyes in the pub car park, handshakes all round. As she nosed her Ford Focus out of its space, Chandler glanced across at Bliss sitting quietly in the passenger seat. ‘I quite like the Bone Woman,’ she said. ‘I think she’ll do us proud.’

  Bliss made no mention of his concerns. Though Penny had made the initial suggestion, it had been his decision to call Emily in, and if her presence caused problems he would be the one to carry the can. ‘Let’s hope so, Pen. Best-case scenario is that our victim has been dead since Plato was a lad. If she’s recent, we may have a tough one on our hands.’

  Ten minutes later, Chandler had dropped him off outside his front door and he was being greeted by his two Labradors, Bonnie and Clyde. The two dogs were all over him in seconds, and he welcomed the playful intrusion, succumbing to their insistence, rolling around the kitchen floor like a child as they pretended to savage him unmercifully. The only danger he was actually in was from being beaten to death by furiously wagging tails.

  Bliss lived in a relatively affluent part of the city called Orton Waterville. The house was on a private estate, and was the first and only place he’d looked at when he moved up to Peterborough from London a little over three years ago. Bliss liked the house well enough, but it was not much more than a roof over his head. The apparent peace and quiet of the estate was the first thing he had noticed, and this was of far greater appeal that the bricks and mortar themselves. It was a home in name only, though Bonnie and Clyde made it a warm place to come back to every night.

  After ten or fifteen minutes of unwinding and protecting his face from lapping tongues, Bliss fetched the dogs some food and water, and while they were tucking in he absently checked his post. Idly scanning an offer from a book club, having already discarded one from a credit card company, he noticed a red light winking on his wall-mounted kitchen telephone. Someone had left a message. When he played it back, thinking it would be from his parents, he was surprised to hear the deep, resonant voice of a fellow DI who’d transferred out of Peterborough a couple of months after Bliss had arrived.

  ‘Jimmy? Jimmy Bliss? Uh, it’s Bernard Weller here. DI Weller. I don’t know if you remember me, Jimmy, but we worked the Werrington Post Office raid together a few years back. Look, I wondered if we could meet up. I’m coming to Peterborough tomorrow and I want to see you about something. I hope to be there around noon. Let’s meet in the café we used on that first day together. Wait as long as you can. Cheers.’

  Bliss stared at the phone as if it had grown a mouth and spoken directly to him. What the hell was all that about? he wondered. He remembered the case Weller had referred to, but it was the only time they had worked together. The robbery had left one person in hospital with gunshot wounds, and two more severely traumatised. Weller was the senior investigating officer, and Bliss recalled being impressed by the older man’s energy and determination. Less than seventy-two hours later, two men were in custody. Both were now serving prison sentences for their part in the raid. The evidence had been irrefutable, and the suspects had eventually pleaded guilty, so Bliss couldn’t imagine why Weller wanted to see him now, after all this time. It surely couldn’t have anything to do with the investigation. His mind followed the message through, finally settling on the proposed location for the meeting. Bliss played that part of the message back one more time. It was an anomaly. Small, but there all the same. He couldn’t understand why Weller hadn’t mentioned the café by name. It had been his favourite, used almost on a daily basis over a period of several years. To Bliss, saying the name of the café would have been natural. Not doing so was odd. He shook his head. Perhaps the phone call sounded more clandestine than Weller had intended, but Bliss remained intrigued all the same.

  He pictured the large, brooding Cumbrian. A huge, meaty face, leathery and worn. Eyes always seeming sorrowful. Friendly enough, but reserved. When Weller was working a case he had no time for anything else. Bliss had felt a sense of kindred spirits gathering around the investigation, though he considered his own resolve and sense of purpose as a weakness rather than a strength. He could no longer count the number of times he had wished himself able to release the valve, to embrace something other than work. Being driven was not the same as driving something forward.

  Anxious now, his good mood ruined, Bliss let go a heavy sigh and swore. The sound echoed around the kitchen, striking a discordant note. There were times when he hated being him, trapped inside his own desolate mind. Everything he saw was filtered through dark tones, everything he felt became tainted by despair. Always suspicious, expecting the very worst life had to offer. Take the bones tonight: many people would have dismissed them as old and requiring only a decent reburial, at least until the evidence revealed otherwise. But not him. No, despite calling in Emily Grant in the hope that the remains would prove to be more worthy of her attention than his own, he was convinced that a more recent crime was responsible. Life was just like that. And what of the Bone Woman herself? Attractive, funny, good company, and still his mind was filled with doubts about her eagerness to please. Now, as the day drew to a close, Bernie Weller. A call out of the blue, the poor bloke probably just visiting the area and wanting to catch up and maybe get a whiff of the old job again in his nostrils. Bliss was unable to leave it at that, though. To him there had to be something furtive beyond the words, beyond the proposed meeting. Never taking anything at face value could have been his specialist subject on Mastermind.

  It comes with the job, Bliss reminded himself sharply. That instinctive lack of trust, the constant suspicion. They were a package deal. He cursed again. He’d fed himself that same line so many times he was actually starting to believe his own bullshit.

  Bliss shook it off. Allowing this ritual self-flagellation to continue would serve no useful purpose. During up times he felt he had a healthy outlook on life, if somewhat pragmatic. But when the down times came, they blew in hard and fast and could be devastating. Over a period they took their toll. In the USA, it was times like these that saw many a police officer bite down hard on the barrel of his or her service weapon. Taking your own life was harder in the UK, and there were times when Bliss was grateful for that. He didn’t believe he ever had or ever would reach the point where suicide became a realistic choice, but a pragmatist like him could never rule it out altogether. Being lonely and miserable and, he had to admit to himself, still mourning the loss of his wife, the way ahead seemed dark and distant, paved with thorns.

  He fetched himself a Guinness from the fridge. Popped the ring pull and drank straight from the can. Belched loudly because there was no one around to rebuke him. The fresh impetus of alcohol felt good as it slipped through his bloodstream. He nuked some Chinese noodles in the microwave, went into the lounge, threw his jacket on the floor, put on a Joe Satriani CD, and made himself comfortable on the sofa. He worked his way uneasily through the food and ale;
disparate thoughts tossed around inside his head. Bliss wanted to give more attention to the inquiry in hand, but every time he set his mind to the human remains lying over in Bretton Woods, he kept coming back to the phone call and DI Weller.

  Two more drinks and another CD later, Bliss started to make his way upstairs to bed, more in hope of sleep than expectation. Some nights he managed to force his way up there, other times he made do with the sofa.

  Tonight, if his dead wife waited for him up there, he would welcome her.

  Chapter 3

  Peterborough District Hospital was winding down in preparation for moving to new accommodation away from the city centre. As the local population had increased, so the hospital capacity became stretched to breaking point. Bliss had lived and worked in the city for around three years now, yet was still surprisingly unfamiliar with many of its buildings. He simply wasn’t interested enough to care. The one place he knew well, however, was the hospital mortuary. He’d only had cause to visit it on four previous occasions, but once experienced, it could never be forgotten.

  All the usual clichés applied: the mortuary suite was located in the hospital basement, its rooms and corridors dark and dank when compared to the rest of the hospital, each carrying a stench no one who entered them would ever fail to recognise in the future. The mix of chemicals and death was a heady concoction, a cocktail of odours no human was ever supposed to be subjected to. The mortuary, in which the Post Mortem Suite was located, seemed more like a Gothic laboratory wrought from the mind of Mary Shelley than a modern medical facility. It was even managed by an oddball who had no idea why his name, Norman Bates, caused everyone to whom he introduced himself to do a double take. His squat, rotund form made the mental image even more of a challenge.

  Bliss and Chandler arrived shortly before 8.30 a.m. to be informed by Doctor Bates’s assistant that her boss had already gone home. ‘He worked pretty much through the night,’ she explained defensively, peering up at them from her desk.

  ‘Him and a vast army of police officers,’ Bliss remarked, staring right back.

  Behind the woman, printed on white card set into a small black frame, was a Kipling poem that read: I keep six honest serving men. They taught me all I knew. Their names are What and Why and When. And How and Where and Who. Bliss had always meant to ask for a copy for his own office, but had never got around to it. He shared Bates’s credo, but was a little peeved that the doctor had not waited around in order to provide a verbal report at the very least. Long, unsociable hours went with the territory.

  Anne Barker gave a weary smile, unfazed by Bliss’s abrupt manner. She had been Bates’s assistant for a number of years, and Bliss was familiar with her laconic style. A cheery, somewhat plain woman in her mid-thirties, Barker habitually wore short black skirts beneath her unbuttoned white lab coat, and was rumoured to favour stockings in winter. Every time he was in her company, Bliss pleaded with himself to keep his gaze fixed firmly on her face, and every time those pleas fell on deaf ears. Aside from having great legs, Anne Barker also had an uncanny knack of catching him out whenever his eyes strayed.

  As they just had.

  Stockings.

  Definitely.

  ‘Did Psycho leave anything for us?’ he asked more amiably.

  The smile flickered. ‘Don’t let him catch you calling him that. I’ll only have to explain it to him.’

  ‘Fair enough. But did he leave us anything?’

  She jabbed a finger in the direction of the main pathology lab. ‘Indeed he did. He left you two bodies.’

  ‘Did you say two bodies?’

  ‘Uh-huh. And just for a change, one of them has a pulse.’

  Puzzled, Bliss strode across to the double doors leading to the PM suite and, using a hand to ward off any glare, peered through a rectangle of toughened glass. At one of two stainless steel tables located in the centre of the room, Emily Grant stood leaning over the dark strips of bone now forming the outline of a human being once more. Bliss rapped his knuckles on the window, which had become slightly fogged by his breath. Grant turned, looked up, smiled with her eyes. Held up a hand. She wore no mask, and he saw her mouth the words: ‘Give me a minute’.

  ‘It’s Emily,’ he told Chandler. ‘She’ll honour us with her presence in a moment.’

  Chandler must have caught the tone. ‘What’s wrong, boss? You sound as though you don’t approve.’

  He glanced over his shoulder before taking a couple of steps back towards her, leaning in, voice lowered as he said, ‘It’s just that I don’t remember sanctioning this. I know Emily wanted to carry on helping us out, and I recall saying it sounded like a decent idea, but I’m not sure I told her to go ahead with an examination.’

  ‘If I remember correctly, you mentioned something about arranging for the doc to give her a bell once the body had cleared the SOC.’

  ‘Yeah, only I didn’t speak to him about it. I forgot. So how come she’s here?’

  ‘I have no idea. Is it a problem?’

  ‘Not exactly. I just feel she’s taken it a bit for granted.’

  ‘Well, we did call her in, boss. We did ask for her help in the first place.’

  Bliss raised a hand in submission. ‘I know. Forget it. Just me being protective, I suppose.’

  ‘And there was me thinking I’d sensed a little chemistry between you two last night.’

  Bliss had thought the same thing. And if Penny noticed, maybe they were both right. ‘Chemicals maybe,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘Plenty of those in the beer.’

  Chandler looked across at the lab doors. ‘You could do worse, boss.’

  ‘Stop trying to pair me up with every eligible woman I meet. I’m fine as I am, thanks very much.’

  ‘Really? Whose arms did you go home to last night?’

  Bliss unconsciously fingered his wedding band – an automatic response. The answer to Penny’s question was no one. Not last night, nor any other night these past three and a half years. Not unless you counted the clumsy embrace of two crazy Labradors.

  ‘And you?’ Bliss countered, meeting her stubborn gaze.

  ‘Actually, I’m seeing a priest.’

  ‘Your love life’s so bad you turned to God?’

  ‘Very funny. No, I’m dating a priest.’

  ‘I thought they weren’t allowed to date.’

  ‘Yeah, well, if that’s the case then this one is breaking a few rules.’

  ‘I bet the Catholic Church is thrilled about that.’

  She flapped a hand. ‘Frankly, the fact that he’s not humping a thirteen-year-old boy ought to make them happy.’

  He laughed out loud. ‘You’re really dating a priest?’

  ‘Well, we’ve seen each other a couple of times. Had coffee together. He’s going through a crisis of faith.’

  ‘And you’re showing him the way to a life of purgatory.’

  Chandler punched his arm. ‘That’s harsh. But seriously, boss, there are reasons why you and I have both spent so much time on our own, and they’re understandable. But those reasons are in the past. You need to look forward. We both do.’

  He knew exactly what she meant. Following a disastrous relationship in her teens that resulted in the birth of a baby girl, Chandler’s daughter had been abducted by the father and removed from the country back to his native home in Turkey. Two years on and Penny was still using private investigators and the reluctant Turkish police to hunt for her child, who was now almost five. Bliss sympathised with Penny’s reasons for having a less than hectic social life, her pain akin to grief. As for his own misery, he didn’t want to go there. Not now. Not in this place. He shook the smile from his face and turned away from his DC, just as Emily Grant emerged from the lab. She was wearing green surgical scrubs, hands encased in blue latex gloves.

  ‘Do you want to come and see for yourselves what we have?’ she asked.

  ‘Do we need to wear protective clothing?’ This from Chandler.

  ‘Not now. Not with
this body. There’s nothing to contaminate.’

  Despite its outward appearance, the suite was filled with all mod cons. Though there were no windows, the room was starkly bright. An air extractor worked overtime to pump out the odours resulting from post mortems, and there was a surgical feel to the whole place. Drain gutters ran around the perimeter of the tiled floor, which was spotlessly clean. Ranged along one wall there were a variety of different sized jars filled with liquids and floating specimens. Bliss was reminded of a mad scientist’s laboratory once more, and half expected a hunchback to come hobbling in from an adjoining room.

  A complete gleaming white skeleton hung from a purpose-built stand in one corner of the room. A training aid, Bliss guessed. The bones laid out on the autopsy table looked alien by comparison. Emily Grant spread her hands as if presenting something she had created.

  Here’s one I made earlier.

  ‘Not much to show for a life, is it?’ she said on a sigh.

  ‘No,’ Bliss agreed, shaking his head. The only thing he saw that looked remotely human was the skull, and even that now appeared shrunken.

  ‘I’m done for the time being,’ Grant told them as she walked around to the other side of the table. She stretched her arms above her head, yawning. Blinked a couple of times and gave a weary grin. ‘I’ll need to run some further tests, do some additional analysis, but right now I’m beat.’

  ‘Yeah, you look ropey,’ Chandler muttered beneath her breath.

  Bliss couldn’t help but smile; Emily was stunning even in baggy scrubs and rubber boots, and actually looked as if she’d enjoyed a full eight hours’ sleep. Which was more than he could say for his DC.

  Grant looked at Bliss and gave an exhausted groan. ‘I’m not sure how much help I can provide at this stage, but I do have several items of interest for you.’

  ‘We were actually expecting to find the doc here,’ he said. There was no edge to his voice, but Emily seemed to have made herself rather too comfortable for his liking.