THE DCI BLIZZARD MURDER MYSTERIES: Books 1 to 3

by John Dean

  During his visit, Fee visited a friend, spending the entire time talking about John Blizzard. The couple met up again just after four and went back to Fee’s terraced house near the city centre for a light tea, sitting by the fire in her cosy living room as the late afternoon gloom closed in. Then Blizzard went to view the battered body of Moira Savage.

  The call from Colley came shortly after six and within twenty minutes, the chief inspector and Ellis were driving through the same roads along which they had cycled that morning, the grim expression on their faces contrasting sharply with the happy smiles of a few hours before. The end to a perfect day, Blizzard thought morosely. But his mind had little time to dwell on such prosaic notions because, as so often happened when murders occurred, he felt himself coming alive. He knew it sounded insensitive, and Blizzard did not expect civilians to understand, but murder brought out the best in him, sharpening his instincts. Instincts that he felt had been dulled over the past fortnight by his preoccupations with his own thoughts.

  Now the chief inspector saw things more clearly, perhaps for the first time during the inquiry. Knew now the significance of something Colley had told him the previous Friday so that, even before he arrived at Moira Savage’s house, things were slotting into place and he had determined on a course of action.

  ‘I’ve missed something,’ said Blizzard as he manoeuvred the car into the dark country lane leading to Hawkwith.

  ‘What do you mean?’ asked Fee, trying to sound casual and conceal her apprehension at what they might find when they got there; the sergeant had said it was bad and the sergeant tended not to exaggerate this kind of thing.

  ‘Something Colley mentioned. I didn’t listen hard enough,’ said Blizzard.

  Driving past the flashing lights of the police cars stationed at the entrance to Hawkwith village, he headed down the narrow road along one side of the green and pulled up outside Moira Savage’s house. Leaving Ellis to hook up with Sergeant Tulley a little further along the green, Blizzard edged his way through the crowd of curious villagers that had gathered. Brusquely ignoring their questions and ordering a uniformed constable to move them back from the house, he pushed open the gate and walked up the drive, noticing through the illuminated living room window that Graham Ross was already there, briefing two members of his forensic team. Colley was standing on the doorstep, mobile phone clapped to his ear. Seeing the chief inspector approaching, he ended the call and slipped the phone into his anorak pocket.

  ‘Sorry about this, guv,’ he said, walking down the drive to meet him.

  ‘No worries,’ said the chief inspector. He nodded at the sergeant’s pocket. ‘Who was on the phone?’

  ‘Jay.’

  ‘Another dinner ruined, eh,’ said Blizzard with a wry smile.

  ‘Something like that.’

  ‘So, what have we got?’ asked the chief inspector, following his sergeant into the hallway.

  ‘It’s a bit of mess,’ said Colley, pushing open the door to the living room.

  ‘Tell me something I don’t know,’ grunted Blizzard.

  He stood and surveyed the scene for a few moments. Colley was not wrong. The chief inspector had seen plenty of deaths in his time but somehow that never made it any easier whenever he was confronted by a new one. There was something about the smell that triggered off instinctive feelings of unease in him; that and the realisation that just a short time before on the very spot where he stood, someone had committed the ultimate act of outrage against a fellow human being. And the death of Moira Savage was more of an outrage than most.

  She had been beaten to death in an attack whose level of violence Blizzard had rarely seen. Moira Savage lay on the floor by the mantelpiece, her head having been smashed in with a heavy object. One eye was closed and caked in blood, her nose was split and several of her teeth had been knocked out. The blood had poured down her front, soaking into the once-white blouse and tweed skirt, staining them crimson, and flecking her black shoes. Blood had also spattered the nearby wall, the pattern ranged across the pale floral wallpaper. It had been a truly brutal attack.

  ‘Who found her?’ asked the chief inspector, shaking his head.

  ‘A neighbour,’ said Colley. ‘Called in about half-five to borrow a bottle of milk. Found the front door open. Came in here.’

  ‘And where is hubby?’ asked Blizzard pointedly, looking back into the hallway.

  ‘Away for a few days. Some kind of conference in Torquay apparently.’

  ‘How convenient,’ murmured Blizzard.

  ‘I take it someone has contacted him?’

  ‘Yeah, one of the neighbours. He’s on his way back. Reckons he’ll arrive about midnight.’

  ‘That’s a lot of turns round the ring road,’ said Blizzard sardonically. ‘He’ll be very dizzy by the time he gets home.’

  He turned to the forensics chief, who was crouching by the body and surveying the wounds.

  ‘So, what have we got, Graham?’ asked the chief inspector.

  ‘It’s a nasty one.’

  ‘That’s why he had to go through all that extra training,’ grunted Blizzard. ‘They have to pass a paper in Stating The Bleeding Obvious before they can work on forensics. You’d get on well with Elspeth Roberts.’

  ‘Sorry, guv,’ said Ross, standing up and instinctively running a hand through his beautifully coiffured hair.

  ‘Don’t worry, you look lovely,’ said Blizzard, scowling at the gesture. ‘So, what was she killed with?’

  ‘Not sure. Something heavy.’

  ‘A poker perhaps?’ asked the chief inspector, nodding at the hearth. ‘There’s not one there and these kinds of people always have one for show.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Ross. ‘Reynolds will be able to tell us more when he does the post-mortem but whatever it was, I am pretty sure it is not in the house now. We’ve looked everywhere, haven’t we, Dave?’

  Colley nodded.

  ‘Then look again,’ said Blizzard, turning to the sergeant. ‘Anyone see anything?’

  ‘Tulley’s doing door-to-door but nothing so far,’ said Colley, glancing out of the window and noticing Ellis and the sergeant talking to a small group of villagers on the green.

  ‘Well,’ said the chief inspector, walking over to stand next to him and staring sourly at the gathering at the front gate. ‘Someone out there must know why someone wanted to kill her. What about those who opposed her in the parish council meetings? Remind me where we got with them on Friday, David.’

  ‘Na, it’s none of them,’ said Colley. ‘No way are they the type to murder her. I mean, one of them was Harold Brown. He’s a solicitor, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Oh, that’s alright then,’ said Blizzard. ‘But you’re right, they’re not killers and this is not about them. No, whoever it was, they hated Moira Savage enough to bash her brains out and that means there was more at stake than a little falling out among neighbours. And that means we have to look for the person with the strongest motive.’

  ‘And that means,’ said Colley, taking up the train of thought, ‘those behind the sale of the land at Green Meadow Farm.’

  ‘And if that is the case,’ said Ross, ‘Henderson Ramage has got to be in the frame, surely?’

  ‘You know,’ said Blizzard, walking out into the hallway, ‘I think he just might be. Ah, Mrs Roberts, what a pleasant surprise. You seem to turn up everywhere like a bad penny.’

  The archaeologist was standing at the front door, an anxious look on her face.

  ‘She wants to come in, sir,’ said the uniformed constable who was keeping guard. ‘I told her she couldn’t.’

  ‘It’s OK,’ said the chief inspector. ‘Might I suggest we go into the kitchen, Mrs Roberts. It is not very pleasant in the living room.’

  They sat down at the kitchen table and Blizzard waited for her to speak. She was very upset and had been crying.

  ‘I just heard,’ she said at last.

  ‘How?’

  ‘One of her neighbour
s rang me. Oh, God, it’s terrible!’ She broke down in tears.

  ‘I didn’t know you were that close,’ said Blizzard, slightly puzzled.

  ‘We weren’t,’ she said, suddenly producing a piece of paper from her anorak pocket. ‘But I’m terrified that I am going to be next!’

  Blizzard took the paper. Decorated with the same crudely drawn gravestone they had seen in the threatening note sent to Moira Savage, it simply said, in letters snipped from a newspaper: ‘I warned you to keep your nose out. RIP, Bitch’.

  ‘You know, Mrs Roberts,’ said the chief inspector. ‘I think you might just be right.’

  Chapter fifteen

  ‘I hope you know what you are doing, John,’ said Arthur Ronald as they sat in his office shortly before midnight, sipping mugs of tea and occasionally reaching for digestives from the open packet on the desk.

  ‘You’re not sure then?’

  ‘I know Brian Savage from my days in Burniston and he’s a decent bloke. Member of the Freemasons, past president of Rotary, that sort of thing.’

  ‘Oh, I’ll release him immediately then,’ said Blizzard, unable to conceal the mockery in his voice. ‘And there was me thinking it was wrong that he’s been lying his bloody head off since we lifted him.’

  Ronald looked at him unhappily. This was one of those moments where he felt the burden of responsibility at its heaviest. The return of Brian Savage to Hawkwith had placed the officers in an extremely difficult situation. Convinced by his lies that the land agent was implicated in the death of his wife, Blizzard had been arguing vociferously that he should be arrested. Ronald, on the other hand, acutely conscious of how it would play in the media if Savage turned out to be an innocent victim, was more circumspect, particularly since he knew that the chief constable always took a keen interest when fellow Lodge members were in trouble. Ronald sighed; he knew that such considerations tended not to register particularly highly on John Blizzard’s radar. If at all. The chief inspector’s ability to cut through vested interests was one of the reasons Ronald respected his friend as a detective and at the same time one of the reasons he found working with him so challenging.

  ‘You know I didn’t mean it that way,’ said Ronald, trying again to reason with the chief inspector. ‘I’m just saying, what if he’s not guilty?’

  ‘Then he would have to explain his lies.’

  ‘Granted, but what if there is another reason for his misleading his wife? Maybe he’s having an affair.’

  ‘It is always a possibility,’ said Blizzard. ‘She’d be enough to drive any man bonkers.’

  ‘All I’m saying is go easy on him until you are sure. He has just lost his wife.’

  ‘Yeah, but that could be because he killed her,’ said Blizzard, noticing Ronald’s pained look and holding up his hands, ‘OK, OK, we’ll make it a nice little chat to start with.’

  ‘Go carefully, John,’ warned Ronald. ‘I know what your nice little chats are like.’

  Blizzard smiled broadly – he loved having a reputation – and heaved himself out of the chair to head for the interview room, where an anxious Brian Savage had been waiting with Colley for several minutes. Walking into the room, the chief inspector looked at the land agent for a moment then sat down behind his desk and, recalling Ronald’s words, tried to smile at him. It didn’t really work and the smile resembled something more like a grimace, serving only to make Brian Savage look even more worried. Next to him, his lawyer, a smartly-dressed young woman shuffled her file.

  ‘Thank you for coming in, Mr Savage,’ said Blizzard, trying to retain a semblance of civility. ‘I know this is difficult for you.’

  ‘Can’t it wait?’ asked the lawyer. ‘My client’s wife has just been murdered, for goodness’ sake.’

  ‘I appreciate that, Miss Hewitt,’ said Blizzard, ‘but I really do need some questions answered if I am to work out who killed her. The first few hours after a murder are crucial.’

  The lawyer said nothing but glanced at Savage, who sat with his head in a whirl of shock and confusion. Having returned to Hawkwith shortly after eleven-thirty, he had been met at the door of his home by a stern-faced Colley, who had informed he would not be allowed in his own house and had taken him immediately to the station. Guided to the interview room and given a cup of tea, Savage had sat for several minutes watching the clock on the wall moving inexorably towards midnight.

  Blizzard and Colley were watching him intently. It never failed to amaze them how the oppressive atmosphere of the interview room got to even the most composed of characters. Brian Savage was a man who normally cut an imposing figure but was now battling to retain control. A tall, lean man, he had short, neat hair, still largely brown with only a few flecks of grey even though he was in his mid-sixties. His face was thin with high cheekbones, the eyes green, the nose prominent and the mouth thin with a slight tendency to curl downwards. He was dressed casually, yet smartly, in a tweed jacket, black pullover and dark slacks.

  ‘You see,’ said Blizzard, trying to sound as relaxed as he could as he reached out to flick on the tape machine, ‘we have been finding out some interesting things about you, Mr Savage.’

  The land agent looked at him anxiously. ‘Like what?’ he asked guardedly in his cultured voice.

  ‘Like there is no conference in Torquay,’ said Blizzard, watching for a reaction. ‘Well, not unless you count a gathering of midwives and somehow I don’t think that’s quite your thing, Brian.’

  ‘And what’s more,’ said Colley, ‘your car never left the county.’

  Savage suddenly realised the extent of police inquiries into his movements.

  ‘I don’t know what you mean,’ he said, trying to sound calm but failing dismally.

  ‘Oh, I think you do,’ said Blizzard, leaning forward across the desk, voice changing suddenly to razor-wire sharp. ‘You see, after your wife was murdered, we put out an APB on your vehicle and one of the traffic lads from southern division recalled seeing your Bentley parked up outside a guest house in Halcrombe for most of the afternoon.’

  ‘He must be mistaken,’ said Savage.

  ‘Actually, he wasn’t. He’s a classic car buff and has been considering buying one. We clearly pay our constables too much. There are not that many Bentleys in this area so he stopped to look at it. Said it was there at 2pm and still there are 6.30 when he came back that way, when you were supposed to be in Torquay. Care to explain that, Mr Savage?’

  Savage looked at him with mounting horror.

  ‘There’s something else that intrigued us,’ said Blizzard, allowing himself a thin smile as he took control of the situation. ‘See, over the past few days, the sergeant here has been doing some digging – he’s good at that – and he discovered that your company has links with one Henderson Ramage and the sale of his land at Green Meadow Farm.’

  ‘So, we handled the sale,’ said Savage, now well and truly rattled. ‘So, what?’

  ‘More than handled the sale, surely,’ said Colley. ‘You and Ramage were partners on this one. In fact, you smoothed the deal with a friend of yours who runs a housebuilding company. As I understand it, your cut was 10 per cent of the not inconsiderable profits.’

  ‘Oh, Jesus,’ gasped Savage, the true seriousness of his position hitting him for the first time.

  ‘And then,’ said Blizzard. ‘Someone in the village threatened to wreck it all, started kicking up a fuss, rallying the locals, speaking out in meetings, firing off letters, even campaigning to make it a war grave so the development was blocked. And this was not any old villager, Mr Savage, this was your wife, the indomitable Moira.’

  ‘And now she’s dead,’ added Colley. ‘Isn’t that strange?’

  ‘Mr Savage,’ said Blizzard, turning piercing eyes on the perspiring land agent. ‘I think it is about time you started telling us what has been happening because from where I am sitting, it looks like you had a pretty strong motive to see Moira dispatched to a better world.’

  Savage hesitated f
or a moment then nodded weakly.

  ‘You’d find out anyway,’ he said hoarsely.

  ‘We usually do,’ said Blizzard, ‘we don’t like secrets. I take it your wife did not know about the arrangement with Henderson Ramage?’

  ‘No.’ Savage shook his head vigorously. ‘We kept the company’s name out of it. Moira would have killed me if she found out.’

  He paused in horror when he realised what he had said.

  ‘Oh, Jesus,’ he said, burying his head in his hands and starting to cry. ‘Oh, Jesus, what have I done?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ said Blizzard. ‘What have you done, Mr Savage?’

  ‘I think,’ said Miss Hewitt, ‘that my client has said too much and I really do need time to…’

  ‘They weren’t supposed to kill her,’ moaned Savage.

  ‘Who weren’t?’ asked Blizzard quickly.

  ‘Ramage and his bully boys,’ said Savage vehemently, lifting his head and staring hard at Blizzard. ‘He’s an evil man!’

  ‘He is indeed and you certainly do make strange bedfellows. Why on earth did you go in with him?’ asked the chief inspector.

  ‘I really do think…’ began the lawyer.

  ‘Well, I really do think your client should talk to us without you clucking on in the background,’ snapped Blizzard, silencing the solicitor with a look. ‘Now, please answer the question, Mr Savage. Why on earth did you get involved with Henderson Ramage?’