Bad to the Bone

by Tony J. Forder

  ‘I understand we have more to get past than just your job,’ she told him. ‘I think what you feel for your wife is something to admire, and it tells me more about you than you might imagine. I told you on Saturday that I would give you time. I meant it then, and I mean it now. If something is intended to happen between us, then it will. If not, I’m sure we’ll have some good times and a few laughs. What could be wrong with that?’

  ‘Nothing,’ Bliss breathed, the moment almost overwhelming him. ‘Nothing at all.’

  Instead of driving straight home, a journey of no more than a minute or two, Bliss headed out of the city towards the tiny hamlet of Elton. He circled around for a few minutes before finding a secluded spot from which he could observe a particular house. He parked up and killed the engine, switched off his headlights. Bliss settled back into the pool car’s seat. For the next hour he watched the illuminated windows of DCS Flynn’s home.

  Flynn’s dark blue VW Passat was parked in the driveway of the detached, comfortable family dwelling that looked to Bliss like a barn conversion. The house backed onto acres of farmland, its closest neighbour more than the length of a football pitch away. In one downstairs room a blueish light flickered, the TV obviously on. Every so often there was a little movement in and around the house, but no one left, no one entered. Bliss had no idea what he’d expected to see. Flynn and his remaining accomplices hatching plots, perhaps.

  Bliss sat and thought about Flynn’s possible involvement until the air inside the car grew cold enough to cause his breath to become visible. He still couldn’t visualise Flynn being responsible for murder. The man he knew, liked and respected could not be capable of such actions. Yet still there were few other conclusions to be drawn from the evidence Dunne had discovered. The windows started to mist, becoming as fogged as Bliss’s thoughts.

  Disgruntled and angry, he fired up the engine, turned the Ford around and headed back towards the dull sodium glow of the city painting the dark sky ahead. His mind now in a whirl, Bliss knew he was in for yet another sleepless night.

  Bonnie and Clyde were down for the night. With just his thoughts for company, Bliss made himself busy, tidying up and attempting to sort his CD, DVD and book collections into some sort of order. He found a box of old cassettes, and slipped one marked ‘Various’ into the player. Just a few bars in he recognised one of his mixed tapes from the eighties. Jimmy Barnes rubbing shoulders with The Cars, 1927 following It Bites. The songs relaxed him, but still his eyes would not grow heavy.

  Bliss knew the insomnia had a grip on him, but equally he understood why. A dozen years spent tucked up beside the same warm body created a pattern of sleep based around specific comforts. The additional heat, familiar movements, the sound of Hazel’s breath, soft exhalations wafting across his cheek, occasional gentle snoring, and her amusing dream conversations. All that awaited him in bed now was a pillow, one that still smelled of Hazel’s perfume, because once a month he sprayed her favourite Eau de Toilette over its cover. For a large part of his life, the simple act of going to bed had been associated with pleasure. Now it felt cold and lonely, and no matter where his mind had led him throughout the day, slipping between the sheets never failed to remind him of his grief. How was it possible to sleep when missing his wife caused an ache that threatened to tear him in two?

  Sitting with his spine pressed up against the living room wall, with Steve Perry of Journey wondering who was crying now, Bliss pictured his own sleeping form in the bed above, wondering if anyone would ever lie beside him again. Someone like Emily Grant, maybe. It was nothing more than an idle thought. He liked her a lot, and as he’d told her earlier he found her immensely attractive. But she would never fill the void in his heart. Never soothe that dull ache. Never be able to recapture the part of him that had been torn away the night Hazel was murdered.

  Bliss realised he was erecting barriers, closing his mind to any stray notions of future happiness. His wife had been killed. He had failed to protect her. He did not deserve to live his life unbound by heavy chains, and he most certainly was not worthy of ever being blessed by love again

  This was his penance.

  The night continued to fight him as usual. What little sleep he managed led to dreams he did not wish to pursue. The alarm was set for six thirty, but he was up, showered and dressed an hour before it went off. Tea and toast for breakfast, some time with Bonnie and Clyde. The angry sky unleashed its cargo shortly before seven. It brought to mind a homily: into each life a little rain must fall.

  Fair enough, Bliss thought. He just hadn’t expected such a deluge.

  Chapter 26

  Connie Rawlings used a chipped nail to hook sleep from her eyes, her other hand clutching a thick towelling robe tight around her neck.

  ‘Remember me?’ Bliss asked. The smile he gave might not be winning, but it was genuine enough. He held up his open warrant card.

  She blinked a couple of times before acknowledging recognition with a single nod of her head. ‘You’re a bit early if you decided to take me up on my offer of a freebie, love.’

  She cracked a smile of her own. He could only guess at its legitimacy.

  ‘I’m just after a chat right now, Connie. Ten minutes of your time is all I ask. I swear.’

  She yawned and jerked her head. ‘I just made a pot of coffee. Want some?’

  ‘I’d love a cup,’ Bliss replied, stepping into the hallway, the warmth of the house immediately enveloping him.

  At the kitchen breakfast bar a couple of minutes later, Rawlings sat facing him, two steaming mugs on the counter between them. Her dirty blonde hair was tousled, sculpted into peaks and ridges during the night. Bliss imagined even Rawlings had forgotten its original colour. Without make-up she looked her age, bags tucked up beneath both eyes like a spare set of padded eyelids, deep lines causing her flesh to sag and gather around her neck and mouth. Yet still she was a sexual magnet. Bliss wondered how some women managed to achieve that without even trying.

  ‘Connie,’ he said, both hands cupping the warm mug. ‘I’m here looking for answers. My investigation has stalled. I desperately want to find Jodie’s killer, but time is running out and now is the moment for people to step up and be honest with me. Several people. Including you.’

  ‘The honest hooker?’ she said, peering at him over the top of a crooked smirk. Bliss could see interest there, though.

  He nodded. ‘I’m hoping so, yes.’

  ‘You think I lied to you the other day, Inspector Bliss?’

  ‘No. But I do think you held something back.’

  Rawlings sipped some of her coffee. They both took it black, no sugar. It was strong and hit the spot. ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ she said, still blinking sleep from grey eyes that had long since lost their lustre.

  Bliss scratched the back of his neck. He wasn’t sure himself, but he thought he was on the right track. ‘When I asked you about Jodie’s regular punters, you gave me Simon Palmer.’

  ‘Uh-huh. Was that useful?’

  ‘More interesting than useful, so I don’t think we’ll be taking it any further. Palmer admitted seeing Jodie, but I think he was genuinely shocked to hear of her murder. The thing is, Connie, at the time we were discussing Jodie I sensed you were being a bit evasive. Keeping something from me. I’ve given that some more thought, and I’m pretty sure I know why you weren’t keen to open up.’

  Setting her mug back down on the counter, Rawlings stared at him. ‘You do?’

  ‘Yes, I do. I think it’s likely that one or maybe even several of Jodie’s regulars were police officers. Now, if that’s the case, I can see why you’d want to keep it to yourself. After all, I’m a copper, too, and you have no particular reason to trust me. You don’t want any trouble, and I understand that. But you have to understand that I need to know the truth if I’m going to do my job. I need to know if she was taking care of cops. Perhaps one cop in particular.’

  Bliss knew by the slight changes in her demeanour th
at he was right. Rawlings had stiffened, squared her shoulders, hard lines had reappeared on a face softened only moments before by the injection of caffeine. He drank from his own mug before continuing.

  ‘It’s difficult for you, I realise that. On the one hand you want to help Jodie, while on the other you want to remain under the radar.’

  ‘I can’t help Jodie now,’ Rawlings said, her husky voice suddenly quick and loud. ‘No one can help her now.’

  He nodded. ‘That’s true enough. As it stands. But what I mean is that you might be able to help nail her killer. To my mind, Jodie would see that as helping her.’

  ‘You never even knew Jodie.’ The woman’s voice dripped with contempt. Her nostrils flared, and for a moment Connie Rawlings looked disgusted with his presence in her home.

  Bliss widened his gaze. ‘Oh, but I’ve known dozens of Jodies. Believe me, I have. Young girls who became part of the currency within their community, and who were then just flushed away like toilet paper. It’s hard to find someone who cares, even within their own families. So why should you go out on a limb, right?’

  ‘Right.’ A defiant nod. Not matched by the uncertainty in her eyes. ‘Why should I?’

  ‘Because I think you’re better than those who won’t. On the surface you’re as hard as nails, you sell your body to anyone who can come up with the right amount of cash, and you go to sleep every night wishing your life had been different. But there’s something inside you, Connie. Something I can’t define. But I know it’s something that will compel you to do the right thing. All I ask is that you do it now. Don’t wait until your conscience gets the better of you, until it’s too late to be of help to us.’

  The room was silent for a minute or two, other than the low hum of the refrigerator. They both drank their coffee, neither meeting the other’s eyes. When he heard her take a long, faltering breath, Bliss knew he had her.

  ‘How about if I give you a name?’ he prompted, trying to make it easy on her. ‘One name. You nod or shake your head. That way you tell me, but you don’t tell me. How’s that sound?’

  ‘Decent,’ she said. Her eyes drilled into him now. Bliss didn’t think it was a word she used often.

  He nodded. ‘Flynn,’ he said. ‘Joe Flynn.’

  After only the slightest pause, Rawlings nodded.

  Bliss felt his heart begin to flutter, then start to beat louder and harder. His face grew hot. ‘Thank you. I know that wasn’t easy for you.’

  ‘Is it the answer you wanted?’ she asked him.

  ‘Let’s just say it was the one I expected.’

  ‘How did you know I’d tell you? What made you think I had that in me? I certainly didn’t. Not right up until the moment I agreed.’

  ‘I think I’m a good judge of character.’ Saying it out loud made him think of Flynn and how wrong he’d been about the man. He gave a shrug and a faint smile touched his lips. ‘Most of the time, anyway.’

  ‘Was it him? Did this Flynn guy murder Jodie?’

  ‘I don’t honestly know. I couldn’t tell you even if I was certain, but I’m being up front with you, Connie. All I’m doing at the moment is chasing down the leads.’

  ‘So is this copper still in the job?’

  ‘Very much so. He’s my boss.’

  She looked at him for a long moment. ‘And what if it is him? Will you make it just go away?’

  ‘No. If I didn’t intend doing the right thing, I wouldn’t be here. I can promise you that, at the very least.’

  A silence fell between them for a few seconds. Then Connie seemed to make up her mind about something. She smiled and said, ‘For some strange reason, I find myself believing you.’

  ‘Good. I meant every word. Thanks for the coffee,’ he said, getting to his feet. ‘And for the information.’

  She looked up at him and, as he had the other day, Bliss saw vulnerability in Connie’s expression. As if suddenly she didn’t want to be alone.

  ‘Do you have to go?’ she asked him.

  Her meaning was clear to them both.

  Bliss knew he should have walked away and left her to prepare for her punters. Should have said thanks to the offer, but no thanks. His blossoming relationship with Emily Grant was more than enough to make him question the way he lived his life, without adding to the confusion. In that instant, however, he got caught up in a vulnerability all of his own. Overcome by weakness and need. And instead of saying and doing the right things, he said, ‘No. Not yet I don’t.’

  It was still raining when Bliss stepped back outside an hour or so later. The whole winter was yet to come and already he was sick of the inclement weather. He yanked up the collar of his coat and started to run for the pool car which he’d had to park several bays away. Instinct revealed movement around him before he saw the two figures.

  ‘Been visiting relatives, have you, sir?’ one of them asked.

  Two patrol officers. Gascoigne and Hopley. Luke and Jerry, Bliss thought. Both out of Thorpe Wood. They wore fluorescent yellow waterproof jackets, and were hardly trying to blend in with their surroundings.

  ‘Not quite,’ Bliss answered. He gave a brief smile then went to move past them.

  Gascoigne stepped to his right to bar the way. ‘Been getting our pole greased, have we?’ he asked.

  Bliss stopped in his tracks, momentarily taken aback by the audacity of the confrontation. Turned his head to face the tall, gangly officer, whose cheeks and forehead were pitted with acne scars.

  ‘I think that’s enough, Constable. Now, if you’d step aside, I want to be on my way.’

  ‘I don’t think I can do that, sir. I’m sure you’re keen to see the law enforced at all times, and I’d be neglecting my duty if I didn’t follow up on a potential crime.’

  ‘And what crime would that be?’

  Gascoigne folded his arms, smiling, enjoying himself hugely. ‘On the scrubber’s part, prostitution. On yours, solicitation.’ He frowned. ‘I would have thought you’d know the law, sir. What with you being a detective, and all.’

  ‘Give me a break. Look, I’m sure you don’t want to be standing out here in this bloody awful weather, and I know I don’t. So, joke over, and let’s just get on with our days, eh?’

  ‘This is our day. You’ve been seen entering and leaving the home of a known prostitute, and you are now suspected of indulging in an illegal act.’

  Bliss bit down on an angry retort. Sucked in some air and let it go slowly. ‘Is this a hangover from that run-in I had with Grealish the other day?’

  Gascoigne shook his head. ‘I don’t know what you mean, sir. This has nothing to do with Sergeant Grealish. It’s my understanding that a crime may have just taken place, in that you solicited sex with a known brass.’

  Bliss closed his eyes for a second, reeling in his rage. This was neither the time nor the place to lose it. ‘Okay, officer. You’ve had your fun. Now, I’m getting wet, I’m getting cold, and I’m getting extremely pissed off with you. So stand aside and then keep the fuck away from me.’

  Without taking his eyes off Bliss, Gascoigne said, ‘Did you hear that, Constable Hopley? DI Bliss here just verbally abused me. That’s crime number two.’ He held up two gloved fingers.

  ‘Want me to go for a third,’ Bliss said, adding an edge to his voice, ‘and take your fucking head off?’ The will to keep a lid on his temper had lasted all of thirty seconds.

  His outburst was met with another smile. Then Gascoigne took a step closer, lowering his head. When he spoke, Bliss could feel the officer’s warm breath on his face.

  ‘You’re coming with us, Inspector Bliss. You can come voluntarily, or you can come in handcuffs. But make no mistake, you are coming.’

  ‘What the fuck is all this about?’ Bliss asked, his gaze narrowing. He wiped rainwater from his scalp. ‘I was interviewing a witness. End of story.’

  ‘Then you’ll be back on the street helping to solve crime by lunchtime.’

  ‘Why are you doing this?’ He put bac
k his head, then shook it. ‘Why?’

  ‘I’m upholding the law, sir.’ The officer’s face was solemn now. ‘It’s what I’m paid to do.’

  Outraged, Bliss gave himself a moment. He could push his way past Gascoigne and call the bluff. Only, if it wasn’t a bluff, he could find himself arrested. There was a time to fight, and a time to take your licks. He hoped he was wise enough to know the difference.

  ‘Are you going to let me drive myself in?’ he asked, biting down on the bitterness he felt.

  ‘Are you asking for favouritism, sir?’

  Bliss blew out a sigh. ‘You’re going to make this as difficult as you can, aren’t you, Gascoigne?’

  The officer nodded. And winked.

  When Penny Chandler walked into the interview room, Bliss could tell she was having a hard job keeping a straight face. ‘I just wanted to look into the eyes of a real criminal,’ she said. She studied him for a moment, then gave a mock shudder. ‘It’s frightening.’

  He didn’t feel like playing along. He was angry and confused. ‘When am I getting out of here?’ Bliss asked. He felt something harsh and acidic churning in his chest.

  ‘Actually, I think you’re going down for a long stretch.’

  ‘Penny!’ He injected severity into his eyes. ‘I’m not bloody well happy with this, so spare me the infantile humour, eh?’

  Chandler leaned back against the wall and folded her arms beneath her breasts. ‘Oh, come on, boss. You have to see the funny side?’

  ‘No. I don’t. I’m fucking furious, if you must know.’

  ‘So do something about it. Get Gascoigne and Hopley in here and demand to be charged or released. Have them swab you and your masseuse and run DNA on you if they try to keep this lunacy going.’

  Bliss glanced away. He swallowed. Shook his head. ‘I can’t do that. If they swab me they’ll find her DNA all over me. If they check her sheets they’ll find my short and curlies. If they check her bedside bin they’ll find a condom with my semen in it.’

  Chandler laughed. She pushed herself upright, walked over and sat down at the table opposite him. ‘Nice one, boss. See, you do still have your sense of humour.’