The Reach of Shadows Read online

  The Reach of Shadows

  DI Bliss Book 4

  Tony J Forder

  Contents

  Also By Tony J Forder

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Chapter 28

  Chapter 29

  Chapter 30

  Chapter 31

  Chapter 32

  Chapter 33

  Chapter 34

  Chapter 35

  Chapter 36

  Chapter 37

  Chapter 38

  Chapter 39

  Chapter 40

  A Note From Bloodhound Books

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2018 Tony J Forder

  The right of Tony J Forder to be identified as the Author of the Work has been asserted by him in accordance Copyright, Designs and Patents Act 1988.

  First published in 2018 by Bloodhound Books

  Apart from any use permitted under UK copyright law, this publication may only be reproduced, stored, or transmitted, in any form, or by any means, with prior permission in writing of the publisher or, in the case of reprographic production, in accordance with the terms of licences issued by the Copyright Licensing Agency.

  All characters in this publication are fictitious and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.

  www.bloodhoundbooks.com

  Print ISBN 978-1-912986-01-9

  Also By Tony J Forder

  DI Bliss Series

  Bad To The Bone ( Book 1)

  The Scent of Guilt ( Book 2)

  If Fear Wins ( Book 3)

  Scream Blue Murder

  Cold Winter Sun

  Praise for Tony J Forder

  "Forder didn't spare the horses when writing Scream Blue Murder. This book rockets along, a breathless action-packed ride. Perfect reading for fans of Simon Kernick and Jeff Abbott."

  Matt Hilton, author of the Joe Hunter thrillers

  "An action packed, twisty thriller. Great stuff."

  Mason Cross, author of the Carter Blake series of thrillers.

  'The book is well written gripping and gets right into your mind and feelings as you are taken on a fast paced journey through a book it is impossible to put down.' Jill Burkinshaw - Books n All

  'Degrees of Darkness is an engrossing and haunting thriller!' Caroline Vincent - Bits About Books

  'This is an awesome read that for me that put it on a scare factor alongside Stephen King and Thomas Harris.

  The heart breaking opening will make most readers just stand back and take a breath.' Susan Hampson - Books From Dusk Till Dawn

  'From start to finish I felt I was reading this in the edge of my seat while holding my breath. It really is that kinda read.' Philomena Callan - Cheekypee Reads And Reviews

  'I read the book in one sitting and was completely enthralled in the story!' Donna Maguire - Donnas Book Blog

  Chapter 1

  The curious thing to his mind was how loud his bare feet sounded as they slapped against the sodden pavement, puddles exploding and spattering his legs from the knee down with rainwater the colour of thin gravy. The way the sound reverberated along the quiet streets, he might as well have been wearing clogs. As his legs and arms pumped and the muscles that worked them burned, the thin cotton dressing gown he wore flapped behind him like a superhero’s cloak. He was only subliminally aware of these things, because his direct focus remained on the figure ahead. The one he had chased from his back garden, and who was now steadily increasing the gap between them. Much to his disgust.

  I’m too old for this shit, Bliss thought.

  His body agreed.

  Jimmy Bliss seldom slept well during humid, sticky summers, and his slumber that night had not been deep. The fierce downpour that started rolling through the city shortly after midnight hadn’t helped, with the constant tip-tapping against windowpanes and the sound of rainwater overflowing from leaky guttering. He woke often, tossing and turning, not knowing which had inspired the other. Remnants of scattered dreams drifted across his semi-conscious thoughts, each of them as unwelcome as the last. Every time his sleep was disturbed, Bliss had considered throwing aside the thin cotton sheet and getting up out of bed.

  After all, there was music to listen to, movies to absorb, work to catch up on, exercise to stretch his muscles, or a car to punish hard on the dark and quiet roads around the city. Anything other than this sweaty torpor. But each time, just as he was about to rise like a drowning man surging upward to break the surface for one last breath, sleep claimed him again and dragged him back under.

  For a time during the next moment of restlessness, he had lain perfectly still, in tune with the moist air surrounding him, eyes wide open as he considered his options. As soon as he heard the odd sound, Bliss knew it was out of place. He thought hard about it as he leaned up on one elbow, waiting for it to brush against his senses once again. The reluctant noise had not been naturally occurring; it had been… furtive. Not something created by a shift in the building, a breeze blowing through the eaves, the expansion of floorboards, nor any rodent lurking behind the skirting boards. Furtive meant only one thing to his mind.

  Human.

  Bliss sat up straight, his body slick with sweat. Flaming June had become sweltering June, and had then swiftly moved on to molten June over the past few days, with the nights not becoming a great deal cooler. He had switched off the ceiling fan earlier that night because it dried out his throat, and the moisture that had subsequently coalesced in the air since was overwhelming, an almost physical presence now threatening to choke him.

  He checked the digital read-out on the alarm clock beside his bed as he turned sideways and planted his feet on the carpet; saw that it was 3.31am. Every movement he made was as slow and precise as he was able to take. He had turned fifty-six in May, and his joints were not as loose as he would have liked, especially first thing in the morning having spent the past few hours prone and squirming. Bliss slipped into his moccasins, padded across the room then pulled his dressing gown off its hook on the back of the bedroom door, easing into it.

  His head jerked up.

  There it was again.

  A subtle snicking noise. Like the sound adhesive tape makes when being pulled from a roll. Bliss tried to control his breathing. The noise had not come from inside the house, but rather from the back garden. His mind drifted away to a case earlier in the year, when a similar situation had occurred. At the time he had not been at all sure whether anyone had been out there in his back garden in the dead of night; certainly, he had not seen anyone from the bedroom window, and had not gone outside to check. This time he wanted to be certain. As a detective inspector working for the city’s Major Crimes unit, he had more than his fair share of enemies. Not all of them villains.

  Without switching on any lights or stopping to find a torch, Bliss swiftly moved outside the bedroom, along the landing and down the stairs. Heading into the kitchen, he scooped up his keys from a blue glass bowl which sat on the worktop. Pausing by the living room door, Bliss studied the curtains drawn across the French wind
ows. He felt his chest rise and fall, every breath sounding to his ears like a jet airliner about to climb off the runway. He saw no movement, no light, heard no further sound.

  Adhesive tape being pulled from a roll.

  If you wanted to drill a hole in glass or break a pane, then taping it first was a good way to deaden the sound and lessen the effect of the shards snapping. A relatively quiet way of breaking in.

  Bliss exited the front door and pulled it closed behind him, having set the latch to prevent it from locking. He crept around his car in the driveway, scuttled down the alley that ran alongside the house and cut left into another alley, which spanned the back of all four dwellings in his row. He reached up for the latch on the back gate, slowly raising it with the soft pad of his thumb, and as it disengaged in well-oiled silence, he eased the wooden gate open.

  The gap was no more than six inches wide when Bliss felt the weight shift. In that moment, the gate was pulled from his grasp and as he started to stumble head first into his own back garden, a figure barged into Bliss and sent him crashing off towards the neatly trimmed section of lawn. In that instant, both the element of surprise and his own momentum worked against him, and Bliss crabbed sideways two paces before the ground seemed to rise up to swallow him whole.

  He picked himself up quickly and immediately gave chase. As his feet sought traction and skated almost comically on the turf for a moment, both moccasins flew into the air. Realising they were lost to the darkness, he ignored them and ran back into the alleyway.

  The figure, who wore dark clothing and what to Bliss looked like a baseball cap on his head, sped away around the side of the house. Heading out of the estate, the fleeing intruder ran across several roads, before cutting across a narrow strip of land beside the main street that ran down the hill towards Oundle Road.

  As the pursuit continued, the burn hit Bliss quickly. Deep inside his chest at first, coiled heat spread out into his shoulders and thighs. Pain, too, in other joints including hips, knees and ankles. An avid and enthusiastic sportsman in his youth, Bliss knew his running days were long behind him, and his respiratory functions were in no condition for a lengthy foot chase. After only a couple of minutes he started to labour, every breath ragged and bursting from his lungs in short gasps. Bliss wasted no energy on calling out, and as it was approaching four in the morning, nobody was around to offer any assistance.

  It was at that point that he became fully aware of how ridiculous this chase would appear if anybody did happen to be looking on.

  Refusing to give up, Bliss pushed himself to run harder. While he exercised regularly, little of it involved prolonged physical exertion like this. His body cried out, begging him to stop. But anger fuelled him as he lumbered on in vain.

  The younger and fitter man he was chasing ran through another alleyway between two rows of houses, the distance between them increasing all the time. At the kerb on Oundle Road he did not so much as pause, speeding across in loping, powerful strides. Bliss realised he would not catch up, but sheer bloody-mindedness ignored logic and drove him on.

  Whether it was the rage he felt at having had his privacy snatched away by the prowler, or the adrenaline-fuelled pursuit itself, he did not know and would never recall. Either way, when Bliss reached the road crossing his path, he ran straight over without even thinking about the possible consequences.

  He was less than halfway across when the car hit him.

  Perhaps he sensed it at the last moment. Maybe sheer human instinct and self-preservation took over. Whatever the reason, Bliss was in mid-air when the vehicle struck. It whipped his legs away, sending his body hurtling at an oblique angle towards the windscreen. He slammed side on against the rim of the roof, bounced once and skimmed along its surface, before spinning off the back and tumbling onto the road behind the car. As tyres squealed like an animal in pain, Bliss’s mind started to shut down, drowning in a sea of inky blackness.

  The last thing Bliss heard that night was the thump of his head striking the warm and hard surface of the road, made slick first by the brief summer storm that had blown through, and now the blood that had started leaking from his scalp. The last thing he felt before losing consciousness was not pain, but a mournful sense of vulnerability, and the gut-clawing fear of dying alone.

  Chapter 2

  When Chandler arrived two days later to collect him from hospital, Bliss noticed immediately the sour look on her face and a piercing glare that could melt steel. Both cheeks were pinched and hollowed out, mouth a tight slit, and her eyes were coal-black pissholes in the snow. His sergeant was pale and looked as if she had not slept well in a long time.

  ‘Who shit in your handbag?’ he asked.

  For a moment that went on too long for comfort, Bliss wondered if his partner was going to respond at all. She shook her head from side to side and seemed to be biting down on her tongue. Eventually she relented with a heavy sigh.

  ‘I am royally pissed off. The plan today was to pick you up, drive you home, get you settled. Right?’

  ‘Right. I gather that’s no longer happening?’

  ‘No. Ten minutes before I was due to set off, Edwards called me into her office. A new case. Which is fine. We still have a few on the go, but nothing that can’t be set aside for a few days. I was expecting to be told to handle it myself until you were back on board, or that they’d be pulling in a DI on loan. But no. Our glorious leader tells me – no, instructs me – to collect you from hospital, cracked ribs and all, and take you to the crime scene.’

  ‘What’s wrong with that?’ Bliss asked.

  He had been sitting on the edge of his bed waiting for her to arrive, the plastic carrier bag of essentials that DS Bishop had brought in the previous day now sitting by his side like a faithful pet. He had been in hospital for two whole days while they monitored his concussion and iced his cracked ribs. All he wanted to do was get out of there, no matter where he ended up.

  Chandler was giving him one of her looks. ‘What’s wrong is that your direct superior, rather than order you to a new crime scene, should have made sure you went straight home. Rest and recuperation, it’s called. I sometimes wonder whether these people have ever heard of the benefits of recovery.’

  Bliss waved it off. ‘Don’t fret. It’s better for me to be working than sitting around at home. I’m clearly wanted for my searing intellect rather than my fitness levels, and that’s always been the case.’

  ‘Except that DCI Edwards is constantly preaching about regulations, and here she is flaunting them. You should be at home, taking care of yourself.’

  Bliss grinned. ‘Aww, you’re angry on my behalf.’

  ‘I am. And a fat lot of good it did me.’ She shook her head again. ‘I’m telling you, boss, there’s something not right about this one. Something more than just sending you to a crime scene when you should be off work. Edwards could barely look me in the eye. She was keeping something from me, I’m certain of that. And whatever it is, it stinks.’

  It wasn’t exactly a bundle of laughs leaving the hospital. Bliss had forced himself to take a few walks the previous day in order to stretch his aching muscles, but nothing had prepared him for this. Every movement was both excruciating and exhausting, and he had to shuffle along at barely half his usual pace.

  The hospital corridors were unreasonably long, the walk across multiple car parks to where Chandler had managed to find a space, almost interminable. By the time he slumped down into the passenger seat of her Ford Focus, he was drained and dripping with sweat. The damaged ribs were like razors slicing into bone, injecting him with little shots of agonising pain.

  Bliss hated being a passenger at the best of times, but he found Chandler’s driving in particular something that was best endured with both eyes closed and one hand gripping the door handle. He was not looking forward to the experience.

  ‘You doing okay?’ she asked him as she gunned the engine. The sympathy in his colleague’s eyes was palpable. ‘I’m happy enough to
disobey the mighty Edwards if you are. The best place for you right now is at home, with your feet up. I’ll take the bollocking.’

  ‘You going to hang around and see to my every need while I’m at home?’ Bliss asked, snapping the seatbelt into place, wincing as it tightened across his chest.

  ‘Some of us have work to do. But look at yourself, Jimmy. You’re in agony.’

  ‘Right. But I’ll be in agony no matter where I go. Don’t worry, I won’t be leaping tall buildings or chasing runaway trains. You’ll hardly know I’m there. And Pen, if I happen to nod off on the way over – which would be a miracle with you behind the wheel – make sure you wake me when we get to wherever we’re going. I won’t be happy if you leave me sitting in the car with the window cracked open as if I’m a dog.’

  Chandler manoeuvred the hatchback out of the car park and hung a right to take them out of the hospital grounds. As soon as the car had straightened, she glanced across at him, shaking her head in admonishment.

  ‘You’d think at your ripe old age you’d learn a few simple lessons. What were you thinking? Running around the streets in the middle of the night wearing hardly any clothes and chasing a suspect all on your own?’