THE DCI BLIZZARD MURDER MYSTERIES: Books 1 to 3

by John Dean

  ‘David,’ said the urgent voice of Sergeant Tulley at the other end. ‘Gerry Brauner’s been spotted near Cara Galston’s house and it looks like he’s been done over badly.’

  ‘On our way,’ said Colley.

  Chapter twenty-four

  Cara Galston started as the doorbell rang shortly after ten. Heart beating faster and head pounding, she walked on trembling legs into the hallway and to the front door, peering out into the darkness through the fish-eye then crying out in horror. Wrenching off the chain, which she had installed after the attack, she opened the door and Gerry Brauner stumbled into the house, his face covered in blood, one eye closed and his leather jacket ripped and torn.

  ‘My God!’ she cried, crouching down as he sank to his knees on the doormat. ‘What happened?’

  Brauner slumped on the floor, blood seeping out over Cara’s tasteful pale blue carpet. Twenty minutes later, he found himself lying on her sofa, a damp flannel placed gently over the worst of his facial gashes and with one eye still partially closed. There was a roaring sound in his ears and, for a few moments, he was not quite sure where he was.

  ‘Here, drink this,’ said Cara, kneeling down and handing him a glass of brandy. ‘It’ll make you feel better.’

  ‘I couldn’t feel worse,’ he groaned.

  ‘What happened?’

  ‘I’d gone back to the office,’ said Brauner, struggling to form the words through swollen lips. ‘As I left, these two guys appeared.’

  ‘Was one of them Lenny Rowles?’

  There was fear in her voice; Brauner’s face provided the answer she had dreaded.

  ‘They tried to get me into their car but I managed to get away but not before I got this little lot.’ He winced as he dabbed his nose with the flannel then gave her an accusing look. ‘They said something about you going to the police. Please don’t tell me that is true, Cara.’

  Cara hesitated.

  ‘Well?’ he demanded, finding new strength as he sat up.

  ‘I told you I would.’

  ‘Yes, but I never thought you would go through with it!’

  ‘They deserve what they get. Besides, I told you, with Ralph behind bars, I get the company. I’ve already got a buyer lined up. He’s offering £35m – do you know what I can do with that kind of money? And my offer still stands, Gerry, nothing has changed. Nothing.’

  ‘Except you’ll get us killed,’ exclaimed Brauner, struggling to his feet. ‘You’ve seen what they can do. Next time we won’t be so lucky.’

  ‘Calm down – Blizzard wasn’t in. I didn’t get to speak to him.’

  ‘So what! Once they saw you at the police station…’

  ‘No one saw me, Gerry. Relax.’

  ‘Relax! Relax!’ screeched Brauner, hobbling over to thrust his face close to hers so that she could see the blood glistening. ‘How can I relax, Cara? They know you were there! They’ll come after you as well.’

  ‘Even if they do, it’ll be too late.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘I’ve made my mind up.’ She gestured to a suitcase standing in the corner of the room. ‘I’m going. You can come, too. Just like we said. I’ll pack a bag with some of Danny’s things. But you’ll have to be quick. The taxi’s due soon.’

  ‘I’m not so sure.’ Brauner’s voice was small, like a little boy lost.

  ‘Up to you. I’m flying to Spain tomorrow morning. I’ve got friends there. I can get you on last minute, I am sure. Georgia’s going with me as well. I’m picking her up on the way round.’

  ‘I thought she didn’t want to go through with it.’

  ‘That was before she realised what they would do to her once they realised I had gone.’

  Brauner still hesitated.

  ‘Your decision, Gerry,’ she said. ‘Always has been.’

  ‘But I can’t just up sticks, Cara! Not just like that. What would they do to my wife and kids?’

  ‘Stay and they’ll kill you.’

  ‘And what about Blizzard? He’ll come after us.’

  ‘Not sure he will.’ She fished in her jacket pocket and produced an envelope. ‘It’s all in here. I’m going to mail it on the way round. By the time he gets it, I’ll be out of the country. He’ll never find us.’

  ‘Jesus, you’ve got it all planned out.’

  ‘I told you I had, Gerry. Perhaps you should have listened.’ Cara looked across to the window as headlights flashed in the drive. ‘Ah, here’s the taxi. Decision-time, Gerry.’

  Brauner hobbled over to the front window and peeped through the curtains.

  ‘Something’s not right,’ he said, turning back into the room. ‘That’s no taxi.’

  Cara looked at him in horror as they heard heavy feet on the gravel. Moving swiftly, she slipped the envelope behind the living room radiator. There was a rending sound as the front door was kicked in and two men burst into the room. Brauner recognised them as his attackers earlier that evening and his attention was drawn, now as then, to Lenny Rowles, a large bull-faced man with a shorn head and eyes that seemed to blaze as he surveyed them balefully. He was wearing a black T-shirt which hardly contained his bulging muscles, his arms were heavily tattooed, and his jeans were spattered with Gerry Brauner’s blood. Cara went pale as she saw once more the man who had assaulted her in the kitchen.

  ‘Well, well,’ rasped Rowles. He glanced at his accomplice, a lean man with slicked-down black hair and a scar on his cheek. ‘Two for the price of one.’

  His accomplice laughed drily.

  ‘You,’ rasped Rowles, pointing at Cara, ‘were at the police station!’

  She swallowed hard and glanced around the room in a desperate search for a weapon.

  ‘Going somewhere?’ asked the other man, noticing the suitcase.

  ‘You ain’t going anywhere,’ said Rowles. He reached into his jeans pocket and produced a knife. ‘I’m going to enjoy this. Should have done it last time. Time to join little Chloe.’

  ‘For God’s sake, Lenny,’ blurted out Brauner.

  Rowles held the knife up and took a step towards the photographer.

  ‘You first then,’ he said with a wicked glint in his eye.

  Brauner lurched forwards, raising his fists. Rowles lashed out an arm, catching the photographer full on the face. Brauner grunted, staggered backwards and crashed into the sideboard, sending a vase smashing onto the floor. Cara, who had seemed transfixed, regained her senses, screamed and ran into the kitchen. The other man ran after her but as he burst through the door, he saw Cara rummaging frantically through the cutlery draw and turning, clutching a meat knife in her hand.

  ‘One more step!’ she screamed.

  He hesitated but the sound of Brauner screaming from the living room distracted Cara. It was all the man needed and he snatched the knife and manhandled his struggling prey back into the living-room where Rowles was standing over the crumpled figure of Gerry Brauner, who was groaning and coughing up blood. It was at that moment that Sergeant Dave Tulley and fellow surveillance officer Detective Constable Alan Hayes burst into the room.

  ‘Police!’ shouted Tulley.

  The intruders seemed rooted to the spot for a moment then, with a savage cry, Rowles lashed out at Tulley, sending him crashing backwards to strike his head against the wall. His accomplice threw Cara roughly to one side and advanced on Hayes, snapping out a fist that caught the officer on the side of the face, sending him backwards to tip over the armchair nearest the front window and lie motionless on the floor. There was a sound from the kitchen and the intruders whirled round as they realised that Cara and Brauner had taken advantage of the fracas and escaped out of the back door, the dazed Brauner hobbling badly, bleeding profusely and leaning heavily on her shoulder. It was as the intruders started to follow, that Tulley staggered to his feet and stumbled forwards. With an enraged bellow, Rowles lunged once again, catching the sergeant on the chin and sending him backwards to hit the wall for a second time, this time to slump to the floor to lie
still, blood seeping from his nose.

  ‘You’ve killed him, you daft bastard!’ yelled the villain.

  ‘Not yet!’ snarled Rowles.

  He aimed a ferocious kick at the motionless sergeant, catching him full in the face.

  ‘Forget him, Lenny!’ snapped the man as Rowles turned on the stricken Alan Hayes, who was on his knees by the sofa, coughing up blood.

  For a moment, it looked as if Rowles was going to argue but his accomplice grabbed him by the shoulder and gestured to the kitchen. The two intruders dived out into the back garden, looking around wildly, but Cara Galston and Gerry Brauner had disappeared into the night, the photographer somehow dragging his battered and broken body over the fence and dropping into the cul-de-sac behind the house. The assailants raced back through the living room and out through the front door, narrowly missing the taxi pulling up in front of the house. The startled driver slewed his vehicle to one side, smashing into the side of the Galstons’ Jaguar. The cabbie staggered out, clutching his hand to a gaping head wound and began to remonstrate with the men but with a furious roar, Rowles lashed out a fist, knocking the driver off his feet and sending him flying through the air to hit the garage door. The driver twitched then lay still. Silence returned to Cara Galston’s house. Outside, having staggered through the front door in a desperate attempt to stop the intruders, Alan Hayes slumped to the ground and lay there, eyes closed, head thumping, a sick feeling welling in his stomach. As he slipped in and out of consciousness, he was vaguely aware of the wailing of sirens drifting on the night air.

  * * *

  Fifteen minutes later, Blizzard and Colley surveyed the scene grimly. Two ambulances were parked in the drive and the badly shaken cabbie was being tended to by a paramedic trying to stop the blood pouring from his facial wound. Another was working on Alan Hayes, who was sitting on a large stone in the front garden wall, his eyes glazed and blood dripping from an ugly gash on his cheek.

  Glancing back through the front window of the house, Blizzard could see paramedics lifting Tulley onto a stretcher, having won the first desperate battle to stabilise him. The grim-faced crew emerged with a stretcher on which lay the motionless figure of the sergeant, the scene watched in silence by the small knot of officers that gathered in front of the house. Blizzard walked over and looked down at the battered face of the detective.

  ‘Will he be alright?’ he asked hoarsely.

  ‘Too early to say,’ said the ambulance man. ‘I’ve never seen anything like this. Such savagery.’

  Blizzard nodded and watched them load the stretcher into the ambulance. As the second crew helped the cabbie into the back of the other vehicle then turned back for the limping Alan Hayes, the chief inspector walked over and placed a hand gently on the detective constable’s shoulder.

  ‘You alright?’ he asked.

  ‘It was Lenny Rowles,’ mumbled Hayes.

  ‘I know. Did he say…?’

  ‘Sorry, mate,’ said the medic to Blizzard as Hayes stumbled, his knees buckling. ‘You’ll have to talk to him later.’

  Blizzard nodded and watched the ambulanceman help Hayes into the vehicle. The chief inspector turned to Colley.

  ‘So, Mather was right,’ said Blizzard. ‘Lenny Rowles is not dead.’

  ‘It would appear not.’

  The detectives watched the ambulances head off into the night, their blue lights flashing, then looked back at the house. More headlights pierced the night and another car pulled up the drive. The detectives turned to watch Arthur Ronald get out and lumber over to them, his face drawn and anxious.

  ‘Will they be alright?’ he asked.

  ‘Not sure about Tulley,’ said Blizzard. ‘Hayesy should be OK.’

  ‘Rowles?’

  Blizzard nodded.

  ‘So, what’s our next move?’ asked Ronald.

  Blizzard glanced back at the house, his face hard set.

  ‘We end it,’ he said, ‘and we end it right now.’

  * * *

  Shortly after 1am, with Ronald having gone home and Colley at the hospital, Blizzard was standing alone in Cara Galston’s living room, staring out of the front window at the police cars parked on the drive, wrapped up in his own thoughts and impervious to the sounds of forensic officers at work upstairs; they had been searching the house for the best part of two hours. Blizzard had found himself profoundly shocked by the sight of his detectives being taken away to hospital, particularly the motionless figure of Tulley. The inspector had seen many police officers injured in his time but this incident was different and he knew the reason: the re-emergence of Lenny Rowles.

  The chief inspector had first encountered Rowles as a young thug but all attempts to bring him to trial foundered because witnesses did not dare give evidence against him. His propensity to use violence in the service of one of the city’s major crime families had earned him some powerful protection, but when Rowles was in his early twenties his luck ran out in a bungled robbery when a security van guard was shot in the leg. Blizzard played a central role in the investigation which led to the arrest of three of the raiders but the fourth remained at large. Blizzard became convinced that it was Rowles, but he had vanished. Reports down the years put him everywhere from Spain to Bolivia and, as the years passed, so the stories faded and police began to suspect that he was dead. Now, all that had changed.

  Blizzard’s gloomy reverie as he stared out of the living room window was disturbed by the return of Colley from the hospital, his car edging its way up the drive, the headlights dazzling the watching chief inspector. Moments later, the sergeant walked into the living room.

  ‘How are they?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘Tulley’s still unconscious. Hayesy’s got a broken jaw and three busted ribs.’

  ‘And the cabbie?’

  ‘Not too grand. If this was Rowles, he’s a bloody animal.’

  ‘He always was,’ said Blizzard.

  He turned as Max Randall walked into the room.

  ‘I just heard,’ said Randall. ‘Thought I’d come over and see if you need a hand. I know Lenny Rowles of old. You sure it’s him?’

  He looked at the blood smeared up the walls.

  ‘It’s him,’ Randall said.

  The detectives heard someone coming down the stairs. Seconds later, forensics chief Graham Ross entered the room.

  ‘Anything?’ asked Blizzard hopefully.

  ‘Archie reckons the attackers were wearing gloves. There aren’t any good fingerprints. I’ll do a double check in here before I go.’

  ‘If it was Rowles, what’s the connection with Cara Galston?’ asked Randall.

  ‘We always assumed Rowles left Hafton because of the robbery,’ said Blizzard. ‘What if he also killed Jenny and the kids?’

  ‘But why go for Cara?’

  ‘Unless he was really after Brauner. He was here as well.’

  ‘Guv,’ said Ross.

  They turned to see him reach behind the radiator and pull out the envelope that Cara had hurriedly concealed.

  ‘It’s addressed to you,’ said the forensics officer.

  Blizzard opened it and read the contents swiftly, his eyes widening as he did so.

  He handed the letter to Randall.

  ‘Endgame,’ he said.

  Chapter twenty-five

  Shortly after ten o’clock the next morning, a tired John Blizzard walked slowly along one of the paths in Hafton Cemetery, heading for the grave of Emily Garbutt. He had spent a lot of time at the cemetery over recent weeks: normally he visited a couple of times a month. Whenever he came, he was struck by the way the cemetery provided sanctuary from the pressures of the world outside: Blizzard had often told Colley that he had a greater affinity with the dead than the living. It was one of his favourite sayings. He also liked the idea that he could turn off his mobile phone and not feel guilty about it.

  On his visits, the chief inspector liked to wander between the graves, reading the inscriptions on the stones and wondering at
the lives lived by those people. Sometimes, he found himself standing rapt in thought, impervious to the passage of time, as certain inscriptions told stories so unbelievably poignant that it was difficult to bear. For all the sadness, there had always been a sense of peace in Hafton Cemetery and the chief inspector liked that. But the appearance of the strange little girl followed so quickly by the murder of Danny Galston had changed all that and imbued the cemetery with a different atmosphere. So it was with heavy foot that John Blizzard walked towards the grave, overwhelmed by a feeling that the cemetery was about to give up one of its darkest secrets.

  As he rounded the corner, he saw, as he had expected, Emily’s mother standing in the morning mist, having just placed flowers at her daughter’s final resting place. The chief inspector stopped and surveyed her for a moment or two. He knew that the flowers on the grave were always fresh, that it was a part of the ritual that kept Janice Garbutt’s fragile facade together, and it was such a deeply personal scene that part of the chief inspector dearly wished he could turn and leave and not intrude on such precious memories. But John Blizzard knew that the cemetery’s serenity had been shattered by events of the past few days and that his job was about to intrude on a peaceful scene that masked dark waters running deep. Cara Galston’s letter had confirmed that. Blizzard started reluctantly to walk forward again. Sensing his presence, Janice turned round.

  ‘I thought I might see you here,’ she said, with a half-smile. ‘I heard about your officers on the radio. How are they?’

  ‘They’ll be OK. I take it you know who attacked them?’

  ‘I imagine it was Lenny Rowles.’

  ‘And how exactly do you know that?’

  ‘He’s the one who beat Cara up. That is why she was planning to leave Hafton.’

  ‘Well, she is missing,’ said Blizzard. ‘As is Gerry Brauner. And what’s more, we cannot track down Georgia Horwood either.’

  ‘They asked her go with them.’

  ‘You seem to know an awful lot about what has been happening. I wonder what else you know.’ He gestured in the direction of the cemetery gates. ‘Shall we?’