‘What the hell is happening here? That was blood they were lying in, right?’
‘Looked like it to me,’ Chandler said.
‘Smelled like it, too,’ Bobby Dunne agreed.
‘So if it wasn’t their blood, whose was it?’ It was an impossible question to answer. Neither Dunne nor Chandler even attempted to.
Bliss rubbed both hands across the top of his head and down his distinctive widow’s peak towards his face, painting yet more blood across his own flesh. His mind was bubbling, sparking like a frayed electrical cord. Then a stray thought seemed to leap out at him, snagging his attention. Without a word to either of his colleagues, Bliss yanked open the door and stepped outside onto the pavement. An icy wind ripped into him, but he scarcely noticed it. He used his mobile to call Thorpe Wood, and asked to be put through to Detective Chief Superintendent Flynn’s personal assistant. A few seconds later he was speaking with Sonia Freeman, the woman who guarded the DCS’s office like a sentinel.
‘I might want to grab a few minutes of the boss man’s time later today,’ he said, having difficulty keeping his voice under control. ‘What are my chances?’
‘Not looking too good, Inspector Bliss. But that might depend on what you want with him. Is it important?’
‘It might be, yes. Damn, I would’ve popped my head in earlier today, but I heard he was out all morning.’
‘You heard wrong, Inspector. DCS Flynn has been in his office since eight thirty as usual, and while he’s likely to be there until at least six, he does have several prearranged meetings.’
Bliss didn’t care. He closed his eyes for a moment and started reining in his emotions. The notion of grabbing a few minutes with Flynn had been subterfuge. He’d got what he called for: Flynn had been at work all day, therefore he wasn’t responsible for whatever had happened to Bonnie and Clyde. Not directly, at least.
Bliss stepped back into the vet’s waiting room, a chime announcing his entrance. ‘It was Rhodes,’ he told his colleagues in a hushed tone. ‘Had to be.’
Chandler raised her eyebrows. ‘It’s not like you to toss accusations around like that, boss.’
‘Well, it wasn’t Flynn.’ He told them about his phone call, the pretext of his conversation.
‘That was some pretty quick thinking,’ said Dunne, nodding approvingly. ‘But that still doesn’t mean Rhodes was responsible.’
‘Maybe not. But if we consider only the names that have cropped up in this investigation so far, who the hell is left?’
Just then the vet came through the doorway that led out back where the treatment rooms were located. A slim woman who looked to be in her mid-thirties, she wore a look that gave Bliss immediate hope.
‘They’re going to be just fine,’ she told him, and Bliss felt like kissing her. ‘Your dogs were drugged with a powerful sedative. It completely knocked them out, and while they’re both far too drowsy to be moved right now, I’m confident that whatever was used will cause no long-term harm.’
Bliss let go a long, heavy sigh. ‘Thank Christ for that. But what about all the blood? Were they harmed at all?’
‘No. Physically they are both fine. We washed them down and searched for lacerations, but found absolutely nothing. My best guess is they were covered in pigs’ blood. We can run tests if you like.’
‘No.’ Bliss shook his head. The news had come as an enormous relief, but there was nothing to be gained by pursuing what had already been done. ‘Thanks, but if my Labs are going to be okay, then I don’t really care where the blood came from.’
The vet frowned. ‘Really? Not even if it’s human?’
Bliss smacked a hand against his forehead. ‘I’m not thinking straight. You’re right, of course. Perhaps you’d better have it tested after all.’
‘I was teasing.’ She smiled, revealing two rows of straight white teeth. ‘I thought you could do with a little light relief. There’s a simple test to tell us if we’re dealing with an animal’s blood. I ran it, and we are.’
‘Maybe you ought to be doing my job right now,’ Bliss said, managing a weak grin of his own.
The vet shook her head. ‘No thanks. Judging by what happened to your dogs, you make some bad enemies in your line of work.’
Bliss didn’t tell her how right she was.
People who are familiar with the place call it ‘Sunny Hunny’. On the north coast of East Anglia, nestling alongside the wash, Hunstanton was a typical British seaside town – all kiss-me-quick hats, lewd postcards, a grubby funfair smelling of warm oil and fried onions, litter-strewn beaches, and pale holidaymakers using the groynes as windbreaks. Any notion of class or substance was obscured by the thirst for tourist cash.
The SeaView Caravan Site stood on grounds whose only landscaping was the explosion of weeds rising up from broken and twisted concrete. Rust spots tainted the holiday homes themselves as if the exteriors had broken out in a rash of freckles. Dirty strips of curtain hung behind dirty panes of glass that served as both windows and air conditioning. The site looked like a place where caravans go to die, a white-goods boneyard. Out of season, not a soul could be found wandering its mini-mart, self-service restaurant or bar. The misted windows and humidity-drenched frosted glass of a particular caravan door, however, revealed that at least one owner was in residence.
Enveloped by shiny faux pine, Sergeant Clive Rhodes sat on a long bench seat staring at the ghosting images transmitted by a portable television. He’d been watching it for half an hour and had not the faintest idea what was going on. His mind was so far away it might as well have been on the other side of the world.
On the periphery of his vision he could see the vague shape of his wife, her hand dipping into a large bowl of cheese corn snacks. The movement, an almost perfectly synchronised motion, irritated him. The sound of her biting into and chewing on the bright orange snacks irritated him. The sweet, suffocating smell of them irritated him. The smacking of her lips irritated him. The snorting of breath through her nose because her mouth was too fucking busy irritated him. The swell of her bloated stomach beneath those fucking ridiculous leggings irritated him. And if she asked just one more stupid question, made one more inane remark, he would have to consider scooping out her eyes with a spoon, throttling her until she turned black, cutting her into tiny bite-size chunks, and burning them on the rain-sodden barbecue.
It wasn’t really her fault, of course. You could tell from the state of her mother and two older sisters how she was going to turn out. That genetics would have their day. But at least he could take solace in the certainty that when you looked, smelled and behaved the way she did, his wife was never going to be unfaithful to him. Not without money exchanging hands.
Rhodes checked his watch. Almost two. Less than an hour back inside the van and already cabin fever was setting in. He couldn’t take any more. It was time to make the call he’d been dreading. He got to his feet.
‘I’m just nipping out for a breath of air,’ he told his wife.
Chloe looked up at him as if trying to decipher the meaning of his words. Without turning from the TV and with barely a pause in her ritualistic mastication, she said, ‘You’ve not long been back.’
‘I know that. I’m not going to be gone for long this time. I just want to go for a walk.’
‘But it’s pissing down out there.’
‘I know that, too. I have eyes. I have ears.’
‘You’ll get wet.’
‘Really? You think?’
Now she somehow managed to tear herself away from the flickering screen. ‘Where do you keep going, Clivey? You said we should have this break away, but you’re hardly ever here. You got something going on with some local slapper?’
If only, he thought. ‘Don’t call me that. Why do you do it? You know I hate it.’
‘I do it because you hate it,’ she replied with a guile he hadn’t known she possessed.
Rhodes shook his head, stood and reached for his waxed jacket. ‘Back in ten minutes,
’ he said.
But she was gone. Off into some reality show where the contestants were every bit as vacuous as its audience.
Emerging from the caravan, Clive Rhodes eyed the road that ran alongside the site and curved away up a hill towards the centre of town. He raised the jacket collar and hunched forward into the thick droplets of rain tossed at him by a steady, stiff breeze. He moved around behind the van and walked far enough away that Chloe wouldn’t be able to hear the conversation he was about to have. Not that she’d be interested. All she’d said when he told her they were going to dump the kids with her sister and take off for a week or so was, ‘What about me bingo?’
He squinted up into the dirty weather. The view didn’t quite live up to the promise of the site’s name. You couldn’t see the sea, for a start. Not on any day, let alone an ugly one like this. The place was a dump, even at the height of summer. Which probably explained why they’d got the van so cheap, and why the plot rental was so reasonable. Still, all things considered, it had provided an effective safe house.
Punching in the number on his mobile, Rhodes wasn’t quite sure if he wanted his call to be answered or not. A large part of him hoped the call would be diverted to voicemail. Sometimes not knowing your fate was the best thing all round. Just as he was about to thumb the ‘Call End’ button, the ringing suddenly died.
‘It’s me,’ Rhodes said. His voice would be enough.
There was a lengthy pause. Long enough to send a chill scuttling between his shoulder blades. Then: ‘So it is. I was wondering if I’d actually get to speak with you.’
‘I didn’t know if I should call or not. I thought you might be busy. And I wasn’t sure how you’d react.’
‘What, to the sound of your voice, or you fucking off the moment things got hairy?’
Rhodes swallowed, his throat immediately constricted by fear. He considered cutting short the conversation and tossing the mobile into the sea, but knew deep down it would solve nothing. That it would only delay the inevitable.
‘Yeah, I’m sorry about that.’
‘Sorry? Sorry? Were you deliberately trying to draw attention to yourself?’
‘Look, I called in sick then requested my holiday days owing. No one is going to tie me in, anyway.’
‘They already have, you fucking moron. All you had to do was stay calm. If they came to you all you had to do was stick to the story we rehearsed.’
‘Like Alan Dean, you mean?’ When there was no comeback, Rhodes grew a little more confident. ‘Yeah, let’s not forget about him, eh?’
‘Alan didn’t stay calm. Alan wasn’t tough enough. I thought you were, Clive.’
‘I’ve not gone far. And I’m not about to spill my guts, either. I’m just… cooling off. Anyway, it’s not as though I deserted you. We’ve kept in touch by text. I’ve still done everything you asked of me.’ Rhodes wiped rain from his balding pate, turning his back to the wind.
‘Yes, plus a few of your own ideas thrown in for good measure. But you didn’t call me. You didn’t have the balls to speak to me until now.’
‘Yeah, but I had the balls for everything else. I think I deserve a little bit of credit, a bit of leeway.’
‘That’s as maybe, but your absence has been noted, Clive. It was foolish. Unnecessary.’
‘I said I’m sorry. I’ll be back in a couple of days. I’ll front it. Don’t worry.’
‘Oh, I’m not worried. You have as much to lose as I do. But we need a chat before you go back on duty.’
‘Fair enough.’ Rhodes thought the conversation was becoming calmer. It was a time for clear minds, not anger.
‘Okay, then. We’re back on track. I need you to do me a favour, though, Clive. You’ve been stupid, but now I need you to be smart. I also need you to be found.’
Clive Rhodes listened with mounting alarm. By the time he killed the call he couldn’t tell if his shivering was caused by the cold rain or trepidation. But he did know he had little choice other than to once more do as he’d been asked. Running away up to Hunstanton was one thing. Going the way of Alan Dean was quite another.
Chapter 30
Having cleaned himself up and changed his clothes, Bliss turned his attention to the missing police officer, the man he now believed was responsible for murder. Rhodes lived in Yaxley, in a bland three-bed bungalow set off the main road that cut through from the A1 all the way into the centre of Peterborough. Bliss and Chandler parked up outside on the main road and appraised the place for a while through the rain-mottled side window of the pool car. The home, set back from its neighbours, with a little more front lawn, suffered with water-stained rendered walls and a broken downpipe that gushed rainwater. To Bliss it looked like the kind of place you couldn’t ever imagine being full of life.
‘What are we waiting for?’ Chandler asked, gripping the door handle. ‘I don’t think this bloody rain is going to let up.’
‘Twitchers,’ Bliss replied.
Chandler squinted at him. ‘Bird watchers?’
‘No, curtain twitchers. I’m not expecting anyone to be at home, but I am interested to know if the Rhodes family have curious neighbours.’
She smiled at him. ‘That’s why you’re the boss and I’m a lowly DC.’
He nodded. ‘Probably.’ Less than a minute later he noticed the movement he’d been waiting for. ‘Okay. Let’s go.’
While Chandler leaned on the doorbell and used the brass knocker, Bliss made a show of peering through the bay windows. ‘Keep it up, Penny,’ he said in a hushed voice. ‘Won’t be long now.’
Sure enough, in a brief lull between the knocking and ringing, an elderly woman stepped out of her own bungalow next door and waved a hand at them. ‘They’re not in,’ she called out. ‘And I don’t think they’ll be back until the weekend at least.’
Bliss winked at Chandler and the two of them moved across to the knee-high wooden fence that separated the two properties. The rain had lessened to a fine mist, though if the heavy cloud cover was an indication, it was merely taking a breather.
‘Any idea where they went?’ Bliss asked the woman, who looked to be in her late sixties. A pair of spectacles hung on a thin gold chain around her neck, and a tea towel was tossed casually over one shoulder.
‘Who are you?’ she demanded.
‘Oh, sorry.’ Bliss gave a chuckle and pulled out his warrant card. ‘We’re colleagues of Clive’s. We need to get hold of him quite urgently.’
The woman frowned, peering inquisitively at him. ‘If you’re his friends I’m surprised you didn’t know he was away.’
Sharper than she looks, Bliss thought. That would teach him to judge someone on appearances. He nodded and said, ‘Sorry, but I didn’t mean to imply Clive and I were friends. We are colleagues, like I said, but we’re based at a different station.’ He didn’t press for the information they needed, not wanting to come across as too eager.
‘Ah, I see.’ She nodded, easing off on the frown. ‘Clive and Chloe went away last week. Sorry, but I don’t actually know where they went.’
‘That’s a shame.’ Bliss put some disappointment into his voice. Hung his head for a moment. Shrugged at Chandler and slapped his hands against his sides.
‘I did hear him and Chloe talking when they were packing up the car, though.’ The woman nodded brightly at him.
I bet you did, Bliss thought. He widened his eyes and nodded encouragement.
‘They were going to take their children to her sister’s place. So she’s bound to know where they are.’
‘Oh, right. Well that might be very useful. I don’t suppose you know where Chloe’s sister lives, do you Mrs…?’
‘MacBride. Helen. And yes, it so happens I do. I’m not sure of the number, but I know they live in Orchard Street, over in Woodston.’
‘Well, thank you, Mrs MacBride. That’s very helpful.’
Her face switched to full beam. ‘I’m sure you can find out the number. You being the police.’
�
��Of course. Though, you could save us a bit of time. Do you happen to know the name of Chloe’s sister?’
‘Oh, yes. Brenda. Brenda Ward.’
‘That’s terrific. Well, thanks very much, Mrs MacBride. You’ve been a great help.’
‘Oh, it’s no problem, really. I like to keep myself to myself, but anything to help the police.’
‘Can you imagine her keeping her nose out of anything?’ Bliss asked Chandler when they were back in the car. They headed west on London Road, towards the city centre.
‘Not for a moment. You were great with her.’
‘I let her do what she wanted to do. If I’d pressed her right from the word go, she might’ve clammed up. You know what it’s like when people feel they’re being questioned. But she wanted to talk, that much was obvious. She wouldn’t have come outside otherwise.’
Chandler put in a call to chase up the address, which came back less than a minute later. Woodston was similar in style to Fletton, it being another of the city’s older parts. The houses in Orchard Street were mostly terraced, with side alleyways leading to back gardens. Front doors in these small homes led directly into living rooms, and it was the habit of the older inhabitants to use their back doors more regularly instead.
After a couple of rings on the doorbell, Bliss and Chandler were called round to the back of Brenda Ward’s house by a large woman with short, lifeless hair and a huge mole between her upper lip and nose. It was one of those growths you had to struggle to keep your eyes off.
‘Mrs Ward?’ Bliss asked.
She nodded, spare tyres of flesh bulging out between her chin and neck. ‘What can I do for you?’ She stood with one hand on her garden gate, eyeing them suspiciously. Clinging to her leg was a small child, little more than a toddler, a pink dummy wedged in the girl’s mouth, dried snot caked around her nostrils.
Bliss repeated the same story he’d given Mrs McBride. Brenda Ward shook her head this time, her doubts clearly intensifying.
Bad to the Bone Page 27