‘And you don’t?’
‘We’ve been seeing each other for two months. That’s not a lot of time, especially if you tot up the actual number of hours we’ve spent together.’
‘Isn’t that part of the problem? The lack of quality time we get together?’
‘I didn’t think so. Clearly I’m wrong.’
When Bliss was finished with the call, he placed another.
Sandra Bannister answered on the third ring. ‘I was wondering if you’d contact me,’ she said. ‘Let me guess: you don’t have anything for me, but you’d like me to dig out some information on your behalf.’
Bliss smiled. ‘Why do you think so little of me?’
‘I’ve spent time with you. Isn’t that all the answer you need?’
‘And yet you get far more from me than I should give.’
‘True. Which is why I put up with your requests. What is it this time?’
‘Off the record, never to appear in print even as a casual mention?’
‘Ooh, sounds serious. Okay. But I’ll hold back if I think somebody else might beat me to the punch. Have to protect my leverage.’
‘Naturally. In that case, when you ran your features on Lewis Drake, did you ever get wind of anything he might be up to on the dark web?’ Bliss deliberately withheld any specific mention of Dark Desires.
‘Not that I recall. I’ll check my notes and our archives, but I can’t say it rings a bell. It’s possibly not something we considered at the time, so we wouldn’t have pried. Are you still investigating him, Jimmy?’
‘Should I not be? I want that twisted bastard for murder, and there’s no way I’m going to allow him to win his appeal, either.’
Bannister chuckled. ‘Sounds like fighting talk. I’ll expect some fireworks. Tell me, what’s this dark web thing all about?’
Bliss couldn’t fault her for at least trying. ‘I’ll keep that to myself for the time being.’
‘Spoilsport. Does it have anything to do with your strangling victim?’
Sometimes he forgot how sharp an investigator she was; the reporter would have made a decent detective. ‘Let’s say we’re keeping an open mind.’
‘Did she work for one of his agencies?’
Even Bliss was surprised at how quickly Bannister had pieced that together. ‘Acting DI Bishop will update you all during his media briefing later. What I will tell you, if you promise me you’ll dig into Drake and any possible dark web connection, is that…’
‘What? Why the pause?’
‘I need to hear that promise.’
‘Okay, okay. I’ll look into it and get back to you.’
‘Thanks. All right. Sandra, be prepared for this to explode. It’s far bigger than we expected. As usual, I’ll make sure you hear about it first. There may be some aspects I’m unable to reveal, but I’ll give you everything I can by way of a head start.’
The journalist was more than happy with that, and promised to start looking into Lewis Drake’s operation immediately. Bliss tapped the phone against his forehead. His use of a newspaper reporter as an unofficial researcher could never be officially sanctioned, but within the job everybody knew the police and the media worked together in small one-to-one cells. Investigating officers relied on journalists to feel their way into areas that were protected against official police intrusion, while ambitious – or even merely enthusiastic – reporters trusted police sources to feed them news prior to it being broken nationally.
His mind swiftly flipped back to Emily. He wasn’t ready for the conversation she wanted to have. It was difficult enough for him to be emotionally attached when working mundane or slow-moving cases, but something like this series of murders sucked him into a vacuum and would not spit him out again until it was over. He allowed no time for himself, let alone others, during such critical investigations. But he knew that ultimately, no matter how long they talked or where they took it, the answer boiled down to one thing: his feelings.
Bliss sighed, pocketed his phone and turned back towards the corridor. Somewhere inside his head he knew there was a spool of thought that insisted he wanted to spend the rest of his life with Emily. Yet somehow, his heart continued to be completely unaware of this commitment.
Twenty-Two
Before leaving HQ, Bliss pulled up a case file whose number was indelibly imprinted on his memory. He navigated the folders on the system before opening the one containing victim images. Having eventually located the individual whose photograph he needed, he ran off six hard copies.
Fifteen minutes later, he pulled his pool car off Mayors Walk in Westwood and into the large parking area of a house set thirty paces off the main road. He switched off the engine and turned in his seat. From the inside pocket of his jacket he pulled out two of the photos he’d printed. ‘Ready for some grunt work?’ he said to DC Hunt and Glen Ashton.
Hunt was a decent copper who put in his time and worked hard without complaint – other than when he was sent on post mortem duty. He lacked ambition and was seldom proactive, but Bliss nonetheless considered him an asset to the team because he followed orders and never shirked a duty. He’d anticipated an objection from Ashton, though, and he got it.
‘You expect me to go door to door?’
Bliss sighed. ‘What are you, Glen, some kind of Bongo?’
In the front passenger seat, DS Chandler sniggered.
Ashton’s forehead rippled. ‘What the bloody hell is a Bongo when it’s at home?’
Bliss grinned. ‘It’s an acronym we use to describe a lazy cop: books on, never goes out.’
The investigator grunted. ‘Well, that’s not me. I do my fair share – you can ask anybody I work with. But not this sort of crap.’
‘Why not? You think you’re above doing a bit of legwork?’
‘Would you have done it when you worked for the NCA?’
Bliss turned further around to face the big man who seemed
