‘Is that a place or some unfortunate sod’s name?’ Bliss asked. You never could tell these days.
‘It’s a waterway out in the Fens. The kennels are at Pondersbridge. The place closed down in March and hasn’t opened back up again since.’
‘You on your way?’
‘We’re headed out the door as we speak.’
‘We’ll meet you there. I’m steaming up the A1. I can cut off through Holme and Ramsey St Mary’s.’
‘Hold on, the DCI just said something… oh, she says if you get there first, don’t do anything stupid.’
‘As if. Did the name of the kennels give us the name of our suspect?’
‘Yes. Positive ID. Man by the name of Des Knowles is listed as the owner of Bevill’s Leam Kennels, a business handed down to him by his grandfather. We pulled up his driving licence details and the photo on there matches the shots Abbi took. Few years older, few pounds heavier. But it’s him, Jimmy. We have him.’
Bliss took the Sawtry turnoff, which would allow him to cut back over the road he had exited and run alongside it until he reached Glatton Lane. ‘Did you hear from Glen?’
Bishop said nothing for a few seconds. ‘Sorry. Just piling into the motor. You asked about Glen?’
‘Yes. Did he show up? Call in?’
‘We eventually received a call, yeah. Turns out he did precisely what we thought he had done. Located the server, called in a couple of his ERSOU mates, and they went in mob-handed.’
‘Did he learn nothing working alongside us?’
‘You just don’t like the fact he got there ahead of us. Tell me you wouldn’t have done the same in his shoes.’
Bliss ignored him. ‘Who or what did he find?’
‘Tiny office space in a block out by the power station. Annual lease. Server cabinet. Two physical servers. A laptop. All hooked up to a power backup and a broadband feed.’
‘But I’m guessing nobody was there when they went in.’
‘You guess right. The office is leased by an offshore company with no obvious connection to Lewis Drake so far as we can tell.’
‘How about to Parkinson?’
‘That’s a different matter entirely. There we might just have a link.’
Bliss clenched a fist. ‘Yes! I knew that horrible bitch had something to do with it.’
His elation was short-lived. ‘Not quite, Jimmy,’ Bishop said. ‘The bank transfers we’re seeing point to Troy Parkinson, not his mother.’
Bliss cursed, turning over this fresh information. Could Nicola have pushed everything through her son’s finances without him knowing? Or perhaps as a silent partner? Anything was possible, not that it mattered right now.
‘I suppose Glen and his ERSOU BFFs are stripping out the kit as we speak.’
‘Yes.’ Bishop sounded less sanguine this time. ‘And making a real song and dance about it, too.’
‘He’ll learn eventually.’
‘What, that you don’t shout about it until you know precisely what you have and how it all comes together?’
Bliss grunted. ‘That, and the fact that you should try not to antagonise people along the way. Especially the Thorpe Wood Major Crimes Unit. Still no sign of the Parkinson clan, I assume?’
‘No. But we’re working the streets as hard as we can. In their line of business, you always end up offending somebody. We’re bound to get word sooner or later, Jimmy. All ports and border control have been notified, so if they run, they won’t be going far.’
Bliss wasn’t so sure. ‘I was wondering if dear old Lewis Drake might have an idea where to find them. That slippery old fuck used to keep close tabs on his people. Stands to reason he’d be even more paranoid now he’s banged up in Belmarsh.’
‘I’ll put a call in,’ Bishop said. ‘He might be willing to talk. Especially as we can officially tie the Parkinsons in with Dark Desires.’
‘Worth a try. See you soon.’
Bliss cut the call before his acting boss could issue another warning. Bishop had sent Chandler the address and post code, which she was busy entering into the SatNav. He concentrated on driving the narrow roads, all long and straight once he’d pushed past Holme; same again when he turned left towards Pondersbridge. Behind his stoic mask, he was annoyed by Glen Ashton’s move, but that would have to wait. Olly Bishop’s jibe stung a little – he liked to think he was a bit more of a team player than that. He couldn’t recall putting the NCA or his own ambitions ahead of the local teams he worked with up and down the country during his long stint with the agency. He always understood he and his fellow investigators were there to assist, bringing their specialist knowledge to investigations involving organised crime.
Ahead of the bridge spanning Bevill’s Leam, Bliss noticed a road on his offside that ran alongside the drainage waterway. The SatNav was busy getting confused, so he ignored it. He looked for a road sign, and spotted it squatting behind a metal railing. There was nothing approaching the bridge from the opposite direction, so he barely touched the brake as he threw the pool car to the right. The back end fishtailed a little, but he was able to correct it easily enough.
‘Let’s get there in one piece, Jimmy,’ Chandler pleaded. As was her habit, she had one hand clutching her seat belt.
Bliss allowed a faint smile to touch his lips. ‘It’s been a long time since you complained about my driving. I’d almost come to miss it.’
‘Yes, well, sadly I appear to be the only one who remembers what happened to the last two motors you owned.’
He gave her that. One hoisted from a lake, the next written off after some necessary reckless driving and ramming other vehicles in a traffic jam. Since when, he’d settled for pool cars.
Glassmoor Bank seemed to stretch for miles into the distance, deep into the Fens. To their left the water ran swiftly, its grey
