Slow Slicing (DI Bliss Book 7) Page 4

  ‘That I am,’ the forensics investigator said. He removed a glove and they shook. ‘Damien Hawthorne.’

  The man cut a slight figure. His narrow face appeared gaunt, and he wore thick glasses with a heavy tortoiseshell frame. Bliss thought the man looked undernourished, as though the bottle of water in his hand might be the only thing to pass his lips all day. ‘Good to meet you, Damien. Tell me, there are four evidence markers inside the chamber. I understand the first indicates the location of the bag, but what other items did you find?’

  ‘Most likely nothing of value to the investigation, but bagged and tagged all the same. We collected a metal eyelet from a boot or walking shoe, an ice lolly stick, and a discarded sticking plaster. A greater number of shoeprints than you can possibly imagine, of course, but the bag and its contents was the real prize.’

  Bliss rubbed the back of his neck, still feeling a prickling heat upon his skin. ‘I take it you examined the item in question before sending it off?’

  ‘As far as I was able. Human, male, IC3, and in my opinion the victim was almost certainly alive when sections of his flesh were removed. I got them biked over to our lab immediately afterwards.’

  ‘Male because of body hair?’

  ‘Precisely.’

  Bliss had picked up on something the crime scene manager had said. ‘You mentioned sections of flesh. Plural. What else was inside the bag?’

  Hawthorne’s face betrayed the first sign of hesitation as he glanced at Talbot. ‘It’s all right, Damien,’ the sergeant said amiably. ‘DI Bliss is on board.’

  The man exhaled his relief. ‘Of course. Apologies, Inspector. In addition to the obvious main cut of flesh, there were also several finer, smaller strands. Offcuts of tissue and gristle, I suppose you might say.’

  ‘Bugger,’ Bliss said on a sigh. ‘I was hoping it would be something different, but we had the exact same thing in our own case.’

  ‘Your own case?’

  The police officer and crime scene manager were both frowning at him. Bliss winced and shook his head. ‘Sorry, I thought you knew. The reason Superintendent Conway asked me to take a look at the scene is because we had our own bag of ugliness on my patch in Peterborough, the week before last.’

  ‘Now that is interesting,’ Hawthorne said, immediately enthusiastic. He took a swig of water before pressing on. ‘Mind you, I’m not sure how it affects my own musings.’

  ‘Your own musings?’ As the outsider of the three, Bliss played along.

  ‘Yes. Any thoughts about The Merchant of Venice in relation to your crime?’

  ‘I’m not up on my Shakespeare,’ Bliss confessed. In truth, he wasn’t a fan at all, but he quickly identified the forensic man’s line of thinking. ‘Isn’t there something about a pound of flesh?’

  ‘Indeed. Shylock demands it as security on a loan.’

  ‘It hasn’t featured in our thinking so far, no, but I’ll bear it in mind.’

  ‘Well, it was just a thought. Any other evidence, as far as you’re aware?’

  ‘Other than the bag and its contents, no.’ Bliss asked for a sip of water, and gratefully slaked his thirst.

  ‘Just one whole section and a few strips of straggly flesh and gristle,’ the CSI manager said as Bliss handed back the bottle.

  Bliss nodded. ‘Ours was also from a male, but a different person entirely, it seems. Different race, in fact, which is unusual.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus.’ Talbot threw back his head. ‘So there are two victims out there, two virtually identical finds?’

  Something else struck Bliss for the first time. ‘Yes, there are. But there’s another similarity: ours was also left for anyone to find, and at a historical monument, of sorts.’ He explained about the Bishop’s Palace and its attachment to the cathedral.

  ‘Doesn’t sound entirely coincidental,’ Talbot said. He stood with both hands clasped at his waist, one thumb moving animatedly over the other. ‘As for the find itself, I wondered why the Super had asked us to extend you every courtesy. He did mention you two had worked together.’

  ‘Not exactly. We both worked for the NCA at the same time.’

  ‘Ah, I see. The UK’s very own FBI. I’m impressed.’

  Bliss had heard the same observation many times, and always refuted it. ‘Don’t be,’ he said, shaking his head. ‘That may be the media’s view of the agency, but it’s mostly incorrect. They do a lot of important work, though.’

  ‘Either way, you’ve had a lot longer with your evidence than we have with ours, so what can you tell us about it, Inspector?’

  Bliss grunted. ‘I’m afraid all we have are questions – minus answers. Our single large cut of flesh was in a similar condition to the one found here this morning; relatively fresh, minimal decomposition. No other body parts or the body itself, dead or alive, to go along with it.’

  ‘How about the carvings on the back of the flesh?’ Hawthorne asked.

  ‘Ours was different, but definitely intended to tell us something.’ He didn’t know how much Conway had revealed, so kept the precise details to himself. Talbot was sharp, however, and his eyes narrowed.

  ‘So, you’re busy working on your op, and along comes another which fits precisely, and it just so happens that you and Superintendent Conway both worked for the NCA at the exact same time.’

  ‘As it happens, I misspoke earlier. It’s the NCA now, of course, but back then it was SOCA.’

  ‘Still, you’d have considered the connection, yes? Between the excised flesh, the victims, whoever sliced off the flesh and left it for us to find, the carvings, plus you and the Super. Has to all tie together somehow, wouldn’t you say?’

  Bliss rolled with it. It was hard to argue with the train of logic, but he disputed it anyway. ‘It’s certainly possible, and I’m not ruling it out, by any means. However, I do see it as coincidental at the moment. Superintendent Conway and I never even worked a case together. He asked me to take a look at the scene in case there was something else out here, something I’d perhaps notice as a result of our own investigation. If there is, I’m not seeing it. Nothing beyond the obvious.’

  Talbot gestured towards the scene. ‘Well, we’ll be around for a while yet. If we come across anything unusual, I’ll make sure you’re notified. That’s if you don’t see it on the news first. Bloody media people are already asking about your presence here.’

  ‘What did you tell them?’

  ‘I didn’t. They exchanged words with a couple of my officers. Neither man knew who you were or why you were here, so they weren’t able to answer any questions.’

  ‘Probably for the best,’ Bliss said.

  ‘That’s what I thought. We could do without the distraction.’

  Looking around the hillside, the A4 running like a black river below, Bliss did not like the odds. ‘You’ve got a tough job on your hands with a scene this size.’

  ‘You’re not wrong,’ Talbot said, grimacing. ‘I have help coming over from Oxford, though, which should speed things up.’

  Bliss understood the man’s lethargy. Even the smallest scenes of crime could be extremely demanding; something on this scale was as close to unmanageable as you could get. He was unable to think of anything else he needed, either from Hawthorne or the duty officer. He said his goodbyes and started walking back down the hill towards his car.

  The scene had told him nothing he didn’t already know. He’d hoped to gain a greater insight from his visit, but without any genuine expectation. As with his own case, the scene he’d visited was not the scene of crime; there, he would expect to find a wealth of evidence. Given the distance between the finds, he had to assume a similar distance existed between the crime scenes. He was beginning to consider narrowing the focus and concentrating on the carvings and their possible significance.

  Bliss let all speculation fall away as his eyes took in th
e landscape and terrain. Somewhere out there lurked a madman playing games. Also out of sight, two men either in utmost terror or no longer breathing. Fear thrived in the unknown and the unseen. The thought took up residence in the darker regions of his mind.

  Six

  Since moving back to the city of Peterborough in the autumn of 2017, Bliss had given no thought to living elsewhere, and the Thorpe Wood Major Crimes unit would undoubtedly be his final posting. Although recent changes to the retirement age would allow him to extend his service for a further seven years if he wanted to – or didn’t screw up – he had no desire to see out his days in some quiet backwoods where nothing of consequence ever happened. He had an exceptional team around him who followed his methodology; if he moved on, he would be unlikely to find the kind of understanding he now enjoyed with senior management. He saw no reason to consider leaving his present home. Not until after retirement, at least.

  Bliss thought Swindon was similar to Peterborough if you drilled down deep enough. Both were typical built-up cities, yet each had wide open spaces surrounding them. But whereas the flatlands around his home were often bleak and desolate, especially during the winter months, he found the sweeping Wiltshire hillsides inspirational. They offered an abundance of scenery to capture the imagination, heart and soul – if such a thing existed. Until now, he had given little thought to what he would do with himself after he retired, but having been reminded of this county’s glorious landscape, Bliss could imagine himself settling down in these parts. He liked the idea enough to give it serious consideration.

  A nice quiet country cottage next to a nice quiet country pub in a nice quiet country village. Provided the pub sold Guinness on draught, it sounded like a marriage made in heaven.

  Even the area station was a major improvement on the sullen, faded brickwork of Thorpe Wood. As for its interior, the plumbing and air conditioning appeared to work, the vinyl flooring retained its sheen, carpets felt springy beneath his feet, walls reflected light rather than capturing it without ever letting go, and his money was on the heating actually delivering the ideal temperature when needed.

  Superintendent Conway had allocated Major Incident Room Two at Gablecross to the investigation. As Bliss had expected, it was airy and bright and seemed not to carry the stale odour of food or people in its paintwork or soft furnishings. In his role as Senior Investigating Officer, Conway had been hard at work since the two had last spoken. When Bliss entered the room five minutes before the evening briefing, the Super had already pulled in an office manager and a finance manager to take the administrative burden – actioning, analysis, HOLMES support, documentation, intelligence, and exhibits – leaving him to concentrate on the investigation itself. A major incident was a beast of many moving parts, and it was Conway’s job to ensure the beast did not become an overbearing, unwieldy monster. Especially one that consumed budget as if it were going out of style.

  In Bliss’s experience, the SIO typically took a hands-off approach, retaining an overall perspective of the case and attending briefings as required, but mainly acting as the figurehead. Usually it was those of his own rank – and, more often than not, the sergeants and constables beneath – who did the spade work. He knew of many inspectors content to lead from the rear, though he had never understood why. Whether his desire to immerse himself in an investigation implied he was a control freak or simply a man who liked to be involved rather than a sidelined observer, Bliss neither knew nor cared. Either way, he had been unable to detach himself from the daily grind. Which was what most cases were.

  Conway kicked off the meeting with a statement outlining the progress made so far. He confirmed the discovery of a substantial chunk of flesh together with several finer strands of tissue. The male victim had been alive when brutalised, and forensic and pathological examinations were underway. When he turned his attention to the similar case in Peterborough, all eyes turned to Bliss.

  ‘Inspector,’ Conway said, ‘perhaps this is the perfect time to introduce yourself.’

  Bliss groaned inwardly. There was never a good time to be thrust into the spotlight, so he got through it quickly. ‘Hello, everyone. I’m DI Jimmy Bliss, currently stationed at Thorpe Wood in Peterborough. I wish I had more to tell you after working the case for nine days, but so far what we have amounts to what you have: bugger all. But this additional piece of human flesh should eventually give us something to work with, and the figures carved out of it are clearly significant. In my view, that’s where we should be concentrating our focus.’

  ‘What about the two victims? Surely all of our efforts ought to be steered towards finding them?’ The question came from a man seated to Conway’s left. He was older than the others, and Bliss guessed he was the DI on whose shoulders the investigation would inevitably fall. He didn’t look Bliss squarely in the eyes, preferring instead to aim the question at his own DSI.

  ‘Normally I would agree,’ Bliss said, fixing his attention on the detective who had spoken. ‘And of course, you and your colleagues are free to investigate your own crime as you see fit. Superintendent Conway asked me to take a look and offer my opinion, which is what I’m doing right now. In addition, as we have already identified a direct connection between your fresh case and our ongoing one, he has also suggested I take the lead here for the time being. So I’ll tell you how I see things. In my view, if either of these two vics is still alive, the best way we have of tracking them down is if we solve the mystery of the carvings.’

  His challenger gestured towards the interactive whiteboard, on which the case was broken down into neat tables. ‘And with respect, I’d disagree. You’ve had the Peterborough case running for, what, nine or ten days now, and you and your team are still drawing a blank on the figures carved into that piece of flesh. I doubt we have greater minds here, so it’s not hard to see it panning out the same way for us. I’m not sure where following the exact same lead gets us. All I’m saying is, I’d rather not waste time trying to decipher these figures, which may mean nothing to anyone but the demented bastard who carved them.’

  ‘I take your point, Inspector…?’ Bliss let it hang there.

  Curiosity lit a flame in the man’s eyes, as if he were wondering how Bliss had known his rank. ‘Paston,’ he said.

  ‘Okay, DI Paston. I understand what you’re getting at. If we find the perpetrator, it may lead us to his victims. But tell me, where would you start? You have no witnesses, no forensics, no physical evidence apart from the human flesh our culprit deigned to leave you. Exactly where would you begin your manhunt?’

  ‘I haven’t had this op for long,’ Paston said, becoming hesitant. ‘It’s going to take me a while to form a strategy.’

  ‘Okay. Let me save you some time. There is no strategy for this. Sure, you can appeal for witnesses, go door-to-door locally – if you can find any doors out there, that is – and I urge you to do it all so you can say you’ve ticked off the necessary investigative boxes. You don’t know me, DI Paston, so you may think I’m being arrogant in assuming you won’t hit on something we failed to consider. That’s not the case. If you or any members of your team can jump in right now and tell me you have a bright idea how to proceed, I’m all ears. Until then, I firmly believe these carvings were made for the specific reason of telling us something.’

  ‘If that’s the case, why can’t we understand it?’ someone else asked – a female detective this time. ‘Why haven’t you been able to understand yours?’

  Bliss spread his hands. ‘I don’t know. As I have freely admitted, I don’t have all the answers. But I suspect the reason is because we don’t have the entire message as yet.’

  ‘Would you explain your thinking on that specific issue, please, Jimmy,’ Conway said.

  Bliss guessed the DSI had taken the room’s temperature and not liked what he’d found. His team were unhappy at having somebody from a different area trampling all over their investigation –
especially one who had so far not been able to gain traction with his own case.

  ‘Of course, sir. Let’s take a look at the elephant in the room, shall we?’ he said. ‘Two substantial slices of flesh from two different men, left in similar ways for us to find, and marked as they are, tells me this is the beginning of something, not the end. Irrespective of any obscure connections, we have at least two victims out there. If they’re not dead, then they’re badly disfigured and, we must assume, in a terrible state. Our case in Peterborough is stalled. No DNA, no victim ID, no apparent matching missing persons report. Same here, as far as we know, although obviously it’s early days and it could all change rapidly. However, two men go missing and nobody reports either? How’s that possible? Were they chosen at random, are they vagrants plucked off the street? It would explain why they’re not on our radar. Are they even missing? Were these punishments doled out to two men who were sent on their way afterwards, minus significant chunks of their own bodies? If so, then they have to be villains themselves – why else would they not report their ordeal to us?’

  Another of Conway’s team was shaking his head. ‘If you don’t mind my saying so, DI Bliss, you just talked your way out of what you initially mentioned. You began by saying this wasn’t over. Yet now you’re telling us these two men might have been punished for some sort of gangland transgression, which would suggest we’re not looking at a serial in the making.’

  ‘I don’t mind you saying so at all,’ Bliss replied, keeping his composure. ‘And if I believed that had happened, then I would agree with you. But I don’t believe it. I was merely providing alternatives to save you time in coming up with them yourselves.’

  ‘They sound like acceptable leads to me.’

  ‘They do. But none of them bear closer scrutiny, in my view. Because the last theory only works if we disregard the chunks of flesh themselves.’