Mr Cagey shrugged as if it were of no consequence. ‘I’ll try to remember that. Consider it a lesson learned. Meanwhile, why don’t you tell us why you are being so unhelpful?’
‘Are you refusing to give me your name and rank?’
‘I don’t have to. This is an informal chat. For the time being.’
Bliss heaved a sigh and this time turned to face the man. His expelled breath fogged the gap between them for a couple of seconds. ‘Thank you, chaps,’ he said, looking between the two men. ‘This has been fun. Let me repay you both by dragging you out of your homes in the dead of night for no good reason sometime soon.’
‘I wouldn’t leave if I were you, Sergeant.’ This time it was Kennedy who spoke up. His tone was firm but not unfriendly. ‘It won’t take much for us to make things more formal. I don’t think you want that.’
‘Not with your form, certainly,’ his companion added.
Bliss’s head jerked up. ‘Form? What do you mean by that?’
The man’s snort was derisive. ‘You really have to ask? The fact that you’re currently outranked by DI Kennedy here doesn’t give you a clue?’
Bliss had no argument. The price for his behaviour during a prior case, and his attitude towards a senior officer in the immediate aftermath, was being subjected to the indignity of a probationary period during which time he’d also been demoted back down to Detective Sergeant. It was one he’d been willing to pay at the time, but he couldn’t yet work out why he was being given a hard time here and now. He chose to push back.
‘Yes, I have to ask,’ he said in a flat, even tone. ‘Why don’t you tell me more?’
‘This is not your first time being…’ the man let his words trail off, cheeks pinking.
‘Go on, finish that sentence,’ Bliss told him. ‘This is not my first time being interrogated? Was that what you were going to say? You slipped up there, didn’t you, Lurch? But at least we’re getting somewhere.’ He paused, slowly switching his gaze back to Kennedy. ‘This is not some informal chat at all, is it? And you didn’t ask me over here to offer advice on that poor girl’s murder. I’m being interviewed, but without caution or representation.’
‘Hold on a second,’ Kennedy spluttered. ‘That’s not what this is at all.’
Bliss stared hard at him. ‘Bollocks it isn’t. Let’s start again, shall we? And this time, I’ll take charge. I’ll give your friend here one final opportunity to tell me his name and give me his rank. Then you can tell me why I am here, or I will leave. Don’t test me on that, Inspector, because I’m not in the mood for more of your stupid bloody games.’
The DI gave his companion a sidelong glance. Shrugged and nodded. The younger man inclined his head and said, ‘I’m an investigator with the NCA.’
Bliss had already guessed as much. ‘What kind of alphabetti spaghetti are we talking about?’
‘I’m with ERSOU,’ he said, pronouncing the acronym as a single word. ‘Specifically, MSHTU.’
Bliss knew the Modern Slavery and Human Trafficking Unit well. Attached to the Eastern Region Special Operations Unit of the National Crime Agency based in Bedford, Bliss had spent some time posted there himself, working organised crime. Not all investigators had previous police service experience, and Bliss assumed this man had not long stepped up from being a trainee.
‘And your name?’ Bliss asked.
‘Glen Ashton.’
Whatever the situation, Bliss understood the NCA were involved by invitation – meaning DI Kennedy was ultimately in charge. He turned to his fellow detective once more. ‘I think we’ve had enough pratting around, don’t you? Let’s get down to why you wanted me here tonight.’
Kennedy took a beat before speaking, while Ashton shuffled from foot to foot like an impatient toddler. All three men were wrapped up well against the bitter night air: thick jackets fastened to the neck, scarves protruding to protect their throats. The DI shivered once before speaking.
‘Our naked young woman was probably strangled within the past twenty-four hours. So far we’ve been unable to identify her. We found no bag, no purse, no phone, no jewellery; nothing except her clothes in a pile beside the body. She has a couple of tattoos on her back, but they’re generic and of generally poor quality. However, I did find a couple of business cards tucked away inside the lining of her bra. One of those cards was yours, Sergeant.’
Bliss felt his eyebrows arch reflexively as he nodded. ‘Okay. Well, although most of the time I forget, I do occasionally hand them out. If you thought I might be able to help ID her, that would be one thing – but that’s not why you brought me here. We could have done it at the mortuary. You were keen to see my reaction in the place where she was found, and you didn’t believe me when I told you I had no idea who she was. I have to assume there’s a good reason why.’
‘There is,’ Ashton said, taking over without waiting for permission from Kennedy. ‘On the reverse side of the card was something hand-written. A single phrase: Get out of jail free! I’m betting that means something to you, because I think you wrote it.’
Bliss felt a jolt as if he’d been kicked in the ribs. He had only ever written that line five times. Five separate cards, all doled out on the same occasion. He put his head down for a moment, catching his breath. ‘It does. And I did. But tell me, what did you take it to mean? Clearly you suspect me of something, or I wouldn’t be here and you wouldn’t be all attitude.’
Ashton nodded, looking Bliss up and down. ‘This card tells me you are on the take, DS Bliss. I think you hand them out to young girls in return for something or other, telling them you’ll work some
