by John Dean
As Brauner approached the grave, he recalled the way such strong emotions had made his relationship with Danny Galston a strange one. Although the haulage boss had threatened him with injunctions and to have him beaten up on more than one occasion, there had been a sort of acceptance that each man had a role to play in the drama. That it was part of the ritual. Or at least that was how Brauner had seen it, although he was honest enough to acknowledge that was probably a deluded attempt on his part to make himself feel less guilty.
Walking through the damp grass of the cemetery, Brauner again contemplated turning back. Maybe this was too risky, maybe Blizzard knew about his relationship with Cara. Maybe he knew what she had been up to. Then he noticed that the chief inspector had seen him, so Brauner took a deep breath and kept walking.
‘You’ve got a nerve,’ said Blizzard as the photographer approached the grave.
‘No need for that.’
‘So, what brings you here?’
Brauner did not reply.
‘Your lawyer isn’t here now,’ said the chief inspector. ‘You can talk freely if you want to.’
Blizzard surveyed the photographer for a moment: gone was Brauner’s customary mocking smile, replaced by something more serious, sad even.
‘Come on, Gerry. Time to stop holding out on me.’
‘About what?’
‘If I knew that…’
The men stood in uncomfortable silence for a moment, conscious of the thickening fog around them, wheedling its way in among the trees and shrouding the graves. Blizzard shivered.
‘You got kids?’ asked Brauner suddenly.
Blizzard shook his head. ‘You?’
‘Yeah, two. Eight and ten. Don’t see as much of them as I should.’
‘Too busy snatching pictures of innocent victims, I imagine,’ said Blizzard, the edge back in his voice.
‘You reckon Danny Galston was an innocent victim, do you?’
‘Meaning?’
Brauner shook his head: he had already said too much.
‘I could arrest you again,’ said Blizzard.
‘Wouldn’t change anything.’
‘So, what does bring you here? I can’t see a camera bag.’
‘Not sure. Just felt I had to come. You?’
‘The same.’
‘Maybe we’re not that different after all, Blizzard.’
Another silence, this time slightly more comfortable. A sort of understanding.
‘We need to go,’ said Blizzard, glancing at his watch then nodding towards the cemetery entrance. ‘Your little mate will be getting twitchy about his gates.’
Brauner nodded and started to walk away. Blizzard sensed someone behind him and swung round. There, over by the same gravestone as last time, stood the strange little girl in her white dress, her eyes lifeless as she surveyed him in silence. Heart thumping, the chief inspector took a step closer but she vanished into the mist.
Chapter eleven
Cara Galston drew the curtains to shut out the night. She was lying on the sofa in her softly-lit lounge, occasionally sitting up to reach out a hand to a side table and take a sip of a late afternoon Martini, while watching Countdown on the large-screen television she had had delivered the day before. It was a relief to have some time to herself because Georgia had spent much of the day with her, arriving just after eleven and only leaving about three. Cara had said little and Georgia had monopolised the conversation, explaining that the police believed Danny’s body would be released inside a week for burial then going on to discuss the funeral service. Cara tried to look interested. Occasionally, Georgia would glance at the new television. Cara knew what the look meant and she explained that it had been ordered before Danny’s death. It seemed to placate her friend, but not much. What would the police think when they saw it? she asked more than once.
After a while, Cara found the whole experience trying and, on the pretext of feeling weary and needing a lie down, she managed to persuade her friend to leave. Once Georgia had departed, Cara had poured herself the Martini, kicked off her slippers and settled down in front of the television. It was as she was wrestling with one of Carol Vorderman’s mathematical puzzlers and debating whether or not it was too early to risk a second drink, that the phone rang. Cara sighed and padded out into the hallway.
‘It’s Gerry,’ said the voice at the other end of the phone. ‘I’ve just met Blizzard down at the cemetery.’
‘And?’
‘I reckon he knows more than he’s letting on.’
‘What did he say?’
‘Nothing, just a feeling I got,’ said Brauner.
‘Just keep calm. Everything is going fine.’
She replaced the receiver and went back into the living room where she heard the scraping of shoes on gravel at the front of the house. Expecting another well-wisher, Cara sighed, placed the Martini out of sight behind the sofa, and walked over to the front window, peering through the curtains. Although the security light had come on, she could not see anyone at the door. Mystified, she looked across the garden and saw a shadowy shape over by the trees, concealed in the lee of the wall. Screwing up her eyes to see better, she realised that the person was heading down the side of the house. Cara ran frantically across the lounge and hurled herself into the kitchen, reaching desperately to lock the back door. But she was too late and the door slammed open, catching her a hefty blow to the head and sending her crashing backwards where she struck the fridge and slumped to the floor. Dazed, she opened her eyes and saw a bull-faced man standing over her.
‘Oh, God,’ she gasped, staring up into the features she had hoped never to see again.
‘Surprise, surprise, Cara,’ the man said, with a grin that showed crooked teeth.
‘Get out, Lenny,’ breathed Cara, surprising herself as she found new strength and started to struggle to her feet. ‘I want nothing to do with…’
The blow from his meaty fist sent her slumping back against the fridge.
‘One more sound and I’ll kill you,’ snarled Lenny Rowles.
She suddenly realised that he had produced a knife. The cry choked in her throat and she looked up at him fearfully and went quiet. You did not argue with Lenny Rowles.
‘What do you want?’ she croaked.
‘I’m here to make sure you keep your mouth shut. I don’t know what your game is but one word to the police and you’re dead meat, Cara. Dead fucking meat. Tell Brauner the same.’
Rowles turned and slammed a gloved fist through one of the glass-fronted cabinets, shattering several of her prized ornaments. Cara screamed as he struck out again, sweeping several of her antique jugs off one of the shelves. Then he turned and snapped out a booted foot, catching her in the ribs and sending her reeling across the floor, shrieking with the pain like a wounded cur.
‘So, just keep your mouth shut,’ snarled Rowles. He crouched down so close that she could smell his fetid breath as he held the knife to her face so she could feel the chill of its blade.
‘I will, Lenny.’ Cara nodded, her eyes wide, her voice shaking. ‘I will.’
Rowles gave a final leer, turned and disappeared into the night. Cara Galston lay amid the shattered wreckage of her kitchen for the best part of an hour, unable to move, waiting for her heart to stop pounding. Then the tears came, racking her body and stinging in her eyes. For Cara Galston, her husband’s death had suddenly become a serious affair.
Chapter twelve
‘Thanks for seeing me at such short notice,’ said Blizzard, sitting in the doctor’s surgery shortly after six that evening.
‘It sounded urgent,’ said the GP, a white-haired man in his early sixties. ‘What’s the problem?’
‘It’s happened again.’
‘Same girl?’
Blizzard nodded.
‘Interesting,’ said the doctor.
‘It’s more than bloody interesting from where I’m sitting,’ said Blizzard tetchily. ‘I’m losing sleep over this.’
‘As I recall,’ said the doctor with a slight smile, ‘you have not slept well for many years anyway. Perhaps you should consider alternative employment, John.’
Blizzard looked at him bleakly.
‘According to this,’ said the doctor, glancing down at the detective’s case notes, ‘you first came to me with this six weeks ago. So, when did you see her again?’
‘Twice this week. One a couple of hours ago. Both times in the cemetery again.’
‘The anniversary was this week, was it not?’
‘I never miss it,’ said Blizzard.
‘Why not?’
Blizzard considered the question for a moment; it was not an easy one to answer. Or perhaps it was, if he was honest. Guilt took him there. Guilt that he had not brought the killer to book, guilt that he had not fulfilled his promise to Harry Roberts, guilt that Pauline Galston was out there somewhere and he had not found her. Guilt that he had cried for Chloe but not for her older sister. And now there was something else preying on the chief inspector’s mind. A nagging feeling that perhaps he had read Danny Galston wrong for all these years. Blizzard hated the thought and found he could not find the words to answer the doctor’s question.
‘Well,’ said the doctor, ‘as I think I mentioned last time, the painkiller you are taking for your back can lead to hallucinations in rare circumstances.’
‘But why her? How come I’m not seeing purple dinosaurs playing the banjo in the sodding high street?’
‘Because purple dinosaurs can’t play the banjo. At least not particularly well.’
Blizzard gave him a pained look.
‘Sorry,’ said the doctor. ‘Look, I’m no psychiatrist – I can refer you to one if you wish…’
‘No way! It’s bad enough coming to see you.’
‘I thank you for those kind words. They mean so much to a humble health professional such as myself. What I was going to say was that the mind works in strange ways and it seems to me that Pauline Galston has been increasingly occupying your thoughts, has she not?’
‘Just a bit,’ said the chief inspector.
‘So, maybe the effect of the drug and your preoccupation with Pauline have combined to create these somewhat vivid hallucinations,’ suggested the doctor.
‘What can you do about it then?’
‘I can change your prescription, but this painkiller is regarded as the best one for keeping a lid on your fibrositis and from the way you walked in here, I am guessing that your back continues to give you trouble.’
‘Any other options?’
‘Find Pauline Galston,’ said the doctor.
* * *
Blizzard walked out of the surgery, deep in thought as he clutched his renewed prescription. Picking his way across the busy road, he saw Colley standing outside the chemist shop, eating a chocolate bar.
‘How’s the back?’ said the sergeant.
‘Shite.’
‘Yet you never complain. It’s a marvel, guv,’ said the sergeant, walking over to the bin and dropping his chocolate wrapper into it. ‘You’re an example to us all.’
‘Did you sort out that surveillance on Brauner?’ asked Blizzard.
‘Yeah,’ said the sergeant, walking back. ‘We’re starting tonight. What exactly are we looking for?’
‘Dunno.’
‘Right, we’ll look for one of those. What colour are they?’
Blizzard smiled this time and they walked into the chemists where the chief inspector handed over his prescription and was asked to wait while it was prepared. The detectives wandered over to the window and stared out at the headlights of the rush-hour traffic.
‘I’ve been doing some more checking on those other vandalism attacks in the cemetery,’ said Colley.
‘And?’
‘They’re all linked. The first attack was six weeks ago, red paint again, the gravestone of a woman called Susan Graham. At first the name meant nothing but I did some more checking and it turns out she was Ralph Cargill’s sister. And, get this, she was also the company secretary at CG Haulage. Died of breast cancer last year.’
‘Now that is interesting,’ said Blizzard.
‘I’m only just warming up.’ The sergeant lowered his voice as he noticed the women behind the counter watching them. ‘The second attack was three weeks later, red paint again, one of their lorry drivers – chap called Ray Heskey. Died two years ago of a heart attack.’
‘So, we may be looking at a vendetta against the company? That’s good work, David. Mind, I hope you have not been queering things for the Regional Organised Crime Unit with all your questions.’
‘I have been the soul of discretion, guv.’
‘Pity,’ said Blizzard, walking towards the counter as the chemist held up his medicine. ‘I’d quite like to foul up one of their ops.’
Chapter thirteen
‘Time to talk, Georgia,’ said Blizzard.
‘I imagine it is,’ she said.
It was shortly after eight that evening and the chief inspector was sitting in the trim living room of Georgia Horwood’s terraced house, cradling a cup of tea and studying her with interest. The strong sense that she was holding something back when they met at Cara’s the day before had played on Blizzard’s mind ever since and now he sensed once more that there were things she could tell him. But she had not taken him into her confidence for fifteen years so he had called at her house more in hope than expectation.
‘Why are you really re-opening the inquiry into the murders?’ she asked at last.
‘Surely that is obvious.’
‘You always thought that Danny killed them. Now he’s dead, surely there is nothing left to investigate.’
‘But what if he is dead because someone wanted revenge for the little ones.’
‘Then they would have done it by now. No one could sit on that anger for fifteen years, Chief Inspector.’
‘You have.’
‘What do you mean by that?’
‘Nothing.’ Blizzard softened his tone. ‘Nothing, Georgia. I am just saying that people react in different ways to grief. What is clear is that you have thought about this quite a bit.’
‘Those children are never out of my mind,’ she said quietly. ‘Never.’
‘Of course, all this is assuming that Danny was guilty,’ said Blizzard.
‘Has something happened to change your mind?’
‘What do you think? Did Danny kill them?’
Georgia said nothing and Blizzard looked at her, seeking some clue from her features, hoping that her momentary loss of emotional control would encourage her to be more forthcoming. But the chief inspector found nothing; the barriers were back up. Secrets, thought Blizzard, always secrets.
‘So,’ repeated Blizzard. ‘Do you think Danny killed them?’
‘That you should say such a thing is somewhat ironic, do you not think? Your Mr Roberts would be turning in his grave, I think.’
‘Everything needs to be considered,’ said Blizzard. ‘Can I take you back to that night, Georgia?’
‘I wish you wouldn’t.’
‘I have to. I am re-examining everything about the case. You knew Jenny well. Did she ever say she was frightened by anything?’
‘Only of Danny. He was a bully. Jenny said he hit her and the kids. With a belt.’
‘Did she fear for her life?’
‘No. She said Danny was always very sorry afterwards, promising not to do it again; that sort of thing. It was the same with Cara.’
‘He hit her as well?’
‘Yes.’
‘Tell me about Cara. I have always wondered how come you are such good friends. She hardly seems your type.’
‘She’s not.’ Georgia chuckled – it seemed out of character. ‘You know we met in the dramatic society? Well, everyone used to say we were chalk and cheese. Cara would play the leading roles, sticking her boobs out everywhere and flirting with the men in the audience, and I’d be the scullery maid or something, scuttling in with my buc
ket and a fag in my mouth.’
‘But you clearly get on?’
‘Yes, we do.’
‘Tell me about her and Danny. Did she love him?’
‘I’d rather not say.’
‘Why?’
Georgia sighed. ‘Because she hated him.’
‘Because he hit her?’
‘Because he was an appalling man.’ The words were spat out. ‘She deserved so much better.’
‘Did she hate him enough to kill him?’
Georgia shook her head vigorously. ‘Not her style,’ she said.
‘Why did you not tell us he was beating Jenny and the kids when they were murdered?’
‘I did not think it was relevant then and I do not think it is relevant now. Danny Galston did not kill Jenny and the kids.’
‘But someone did.’
‘They were such lovely children,’ she said, her eyes moist with tears as emotion broke through. ‘Chloe was a little sweetie.’
‘And Pauline?’
‘A strange little girl but once you got to know her, she was fine. Loved reading. Never happier than when she was locked away in her bedroom with her books.’ She looked at the chief inspector intently. ‘Do you think she is dead, Mr Blizzard?’
‘I don’t know.’
‘You said she is not at peace. Why would you say a thing like that?’
‘I should not have said it. Sorry.’
‘But maybe you are right.’
There was a silence for a few moments.
‘Georgia,’ said Blizzard. ‘I think Cara is holding out on me, I think Gerry Brauner is doing the same, and I think you are. Why won’t people talk about this?’