As he was leaving he met PC Griffin, on his way in. The two men smiled at each other, but instead of saying hello, Griffin pointed a finger and said, ‘Tore Down House.’
Bliss shook his head. ‘Too easy. Scott Henderson.’
‘With…?’
‘Thelma Houston, of course.’
‘Damn! Thought I’d have you with that one.’
Griffin had learned of Bliss’s musical tastes, in particular his love of blues and guitarists. The young constable fancied himself as something of a connoisseur, and the two often challenged each other’s knowledge.
‘I’ll make it easier on you, Barry,’ Bliss said. ‘Song title and album name.’
Griffin steeled himself. ‘Hit me.’
‘“Waves”, from Erotic Cakes.’ The moment he finished speaking, Bliss knew he had his man. The deep frown and near panic in his opponent’s eyes told a story of their own.
After a full twenty seconds, Griffin’s shoulders sagged. ‘No,’ he said, shaking his head ruefully. ‘I don’t know it.’
‘Check it out. You’ll love it. Guthrie Govan.’
‘You know I’m going to go deeper next time, Jimmy? That’s four on the spin you’ve won.’
Bliss shrugged. ‘Some of us have what it takes, pal. Others… they have to run to catch up with my casual dude stroll.’ He winked, waved and said his goodbyes. ‘See you Wednesday, Barry. Don’t be late.’
‘“Any Major Dude”!’ Griffin called out.
‘Don’t embarrass yourself, man. Steely Dan, off the Pretzel Logic album.’ His grin grew wider at the parting shot.
The workout was more exercise than he had taken in a long time, so Bliss thought he had earned an early dinner at the Windmill. As usual he sat with his back to the wall, allowing him to survey the entire bar. By the time he was finished he could already feel his muscles growing tight, and knew he was going to ache like a bastard in the morning. In his youth he’d often take an ice bath after a particularly rigorous workout, but there was no way he could face one of those again. When he pulled up outside his house a short while later, he was both surprised and delighted to see the old labrador that had taken to loitering close by.
He still had no idea who the dog belonged to. Having originally thought the animal was a stray, and assumed when it stopped coming around that it had possibly wandered off to die alone, Bliss had been thrilled to see it turn up again a few weeks ago. Since then it had been a regular visitor, and he left food and water out beneath the porch by his front door every evening.
Throughout the afternoon and evening, his thoughts flitted between the separate strands of the investigation, to the point where he was unable to focus on any of them. Determined to clear his head, Bliss ploughed through several albums and CDs. He’d recently bought some remastered Badfinger music, although whenever he played their songs he became melancholy at the thought of their tragic history. Lynyrd Skynyrd had the same effect on him. When he started thinking about it, and realised how many of his favourite musicians had been taken over the past few years, his melancholy slid downhill towards the full-blown blues. Bliss stirred himself out of the trough by putting his mind to the investigation once more. This time, he had a spark of inspiration.
It took three phone calls in which he had to survive irritation and a certain amount of animosity at having disturbed people on their day off, but eventually Bliss got what he needed. Afterwards he sent a text to Bishop, explaining why neither he nor Chandler would be at HQ until the following afternoon, before calling Penny herself to give her the news.
Thirty
The vast Thamesmead site included both HMP Thameside and HMP YOI/Isis in addition to the infamous Belmarsh prison. The three-storey yellow-brick entrance to the latter presented a grim exterior, either side of which ran an equally austere perimeter wall. Behind its bland concrete facade stood several individual pods, each enclosed within its own concrete wall for added security. To access the main prison, most visitors had to negotiate fifteen gated doors after first having their fingerprints scanned. Bliss and Chandler enjoyed the benefit of being escorted via a different route, though they were eventually subjected to their own security checks, including meeting the biometric challenge.
From the main building they entered the high-security unit. In its small reception area, beneath a bank of CCTV cameras, they each removed their shoes and put their belongings through an x-ray scanning machine. They stepped through a metal detector, after which both were thoroughly searched, right down to the linings of their clothes, the soles of their feet and inside their mouths.
Chandler shunned the offer of a separate room in which to submit to her search, having been warned the process would require an extra member of staff and so slow them down. Instead she opted to undergo it in the main area, wearing only her underwear. Bliss could almost feel his partner’s eyes boring into him, daring him to take a peek. He resisted for as long as he could before finally turning to face her. He gave a wink of approval, accompanied by a low whistle. Chandler had turned forty but clearly took care of herself. Her long legs were shapely and firm, stomach taut, small breasts defiantly perky.
Bliss sucked his stomach in as she glared back at him, arms now folded across her chest. He was in decent condition for his age but could
