THE DCI BLIZZARD MURDER MYSTERIES: Books 1 to 3

by John Dean

  ‘Everything,’ said Graham eagerly. ‘I hated what was happening and got out.’

  ‘When?’

  ‘After Jenny and the kids died. It sickened me,’ said Graham, his voice little more than a whisper. ‘I realised the wicked things I had done and got out. Honest to God, that is what happened.’

  ‘And did the ring continue after you left?’ asked Randall.

  ‘How would I know? I had no more involvement after that and I am as shocked as you are to find that my rented factory was being used for such purposes. Look, I will co-operate entirely with your inquiry. I’ll tell you about how Danny offered up his kids. I’ll tell you how Ralph Cargill was involved. I’ll tell you everything. However, I would like to think that we could come to some kind of deal to protect my interests.’

  Blizzard looked at him intently, trying to restrain the triumph he was feeling, not at Graham’s admissions, which he knew had been cynically offered to save himself, but at the moment about to come. Randall glanced over at the chief inspector. His expression was impassive but it spoke volumes.

  ‘Well,’ said Blizzard. ‘It has taken a lot of time but finally you are beginning to tell us the truth, Brian.’

  ‘I admit I was wrong to mislead you,’ said Graham, his confidence growing.

  ‘I take it you had no idea Rowles was coming back?’

  ‘No, I was shocked when I heard. Someone must have rung him.’

  ‘Indeed they must. Any idea who?’

  ‘Someone from within the ring, I imagine.’

  Blizzard nodded at Randall and the sergeant produced a document from his pocket.

  ‘Do you know what this is?’ asked Randall.

  Graham shook his head.

  ‘These are the phone records from your office. Seems that the day Danny Galston was murdered, you made several calls to a number in Spain.’

  ‘I have a friend there.’

  ‘Indeed you have,’ said Randall. ‘The numbers were traced to a flat in Fuengirola. It belongs to a security guard at one of the clubs over there. We faxed a picture of Lenny Rowles to the police out there, taken from his days in Hafton, and guess what?’

  Graham went white.

  ‘Yes, you’ve guessed it,’ said Randall. ‘They appear to be one and the same man. Then lo and behold, what happens? Lenny comes back to Hafton and all hell breaks loose.’

  Graham glanced at his lawyer for help.

  ‘I really do think I need time with my client,’ said Ratcliffe.

  ‘From what I can see,’ said Blizzard, ‘he is going to have plenty of that.’

  * * *

  That afternoon Blizzard and Colley, the latter with a plaster over his gashed face, stood at the entrance to Hafton Cemetery. Neither spoke as two figures made their way along the main path towards the gates. As they arrived, Blizzard stepped forward. Georgia Horwood and Janice Garbutt looked at him with an expression of resignation. An hour later, they were all sitting in one of the interview rooms at Abbey Road Police Station, the women looking pale yet calm.

  Blizzard leaned forward.

  ‘Which of you delivered the fatal blow on Danny?’ he asked.

  ‘We did it together,’ said Georgia. ‘It seemed the best way.’

  Janice Garbutt nodded.

  ‘Either of you want to tell us why you killed him?’

  ‘They say revenge is a dish best served cold, Chief Inspector,’ said Janice. ‘Well, I had been waiting for a long, long time.’

  ‘I assume the collapse of the legal action was the catalyst?’

  ‘My last chance of justice for my daughter had gone. I had nothing to live for.’

  ‘And you?’ asked Blizzard, turning to Georgia.

  ‘It seemed the only thing to do. I went to see Janice, we talked about it and decided that he had to die.’

  ‘But why not come to us?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘Tell me, Chief Inspector,’ said Georgia softly, ‘when you went into that house fifteen years ago and saw little Chloe’s body, what did you feel?’

  Blizzard was transported once more back to the scene and experienced once more the salty taste of tears at the back of his throat.

  ‘I felt rage,’ he said. ‘They didn’t deserve that.’

  ‘No child does,’ said Colley.

  ‘So, you look me in the face now and tell me that you do not understand what I did.’

  Colley shook his head.

  ‘I can’t,’ he said. ‘I can’t.’

  Chapter thirty-two

  ‘So, what’s all this malarkey about going to live abroad?’ asked Blizzard, reaching for his glass of wine.

  Colley shrugged. ‘It was just an idea,’ he said.

  ‘So, explain it.’

  It was shortly before eleven the following Saturday evening and the officers, as well as Jay and Fee, were sitting in the living room of the terraced house which Colley shared with his girlfriend. Feeling dog-tired after the week’s events, Blizzard had considered crying off but it was Jay’s birthday and Fee persuaded him that a night out with friends might relax him a little. After enjoying their meal, they retired to the living room where they now sat amid pastel shades and soft light afforded by a couple of table lamps and the warmth of a flickering fake coal fire. Mellow music was playing quietly in the background and Blizzard was lounging in an armchair with a glass of wine in hand. The sergeant was in another chair, nursing a pint of beer and the girls were sitting on the sofa, sipping brandies. They all waited for Colley to answer the question.

  ‘So,’ repeated Blizzard. ‘Explain it. Why on earth do you want to go and live abroad?’

  ‘I don’t know. I just quite fancy it, you know, away from this place.’

  ‘I love Italy but there is no way I want to live there,’ said Blizzard. ‘It’s OK on a holiday but you try getting a washer changed on your taps.’

  ‘Yes, I know all that but…’ began Colley. His voice tailed off.

  ‘What he should really be saying,’ said Jay, ‘is that he does not want to bring a child up in this country. That’s what he really thinks.’

  Colley looked uncomfortable that the subject had come up. Something that had increasingly occupied his mind for a number of months, the sergeant nevertheless still found it difficult to air openly and the events of the week had only served to heighten the tensions within him. Time and time again he had found himself wondering if he had revealed too much when he and Blizzard had their conversation in the engine shed a few nights before. It was not the kind of thing men talked about, surely? Clearly, John Blizzard did.

  ‘And what is your take on this?’ asked the chief inspector, eying Jay keenly.

  ‘It sounds brilliant, sitting in a little bar looking out over the Med with a glass of red in your hand, but when you get back home, not so simple.’

  ‘But do you not see where I am coming from?’ asked Colley, looking at his boss.

  ‘I know the grass is always greener.’

  ‘But bringing a child into the world is a big responsibility,’ said Colley. ‘You have to do what’s best for them and it’s not just child abuse. I mean, drugs are everywhere and every time we lift a dealer there’s another one to take his place. And when they do get to court, some magistrate with a nice hat and no idea about real life gives them a gentle slap on the wrist. Even the judges are too soft. Now, if I were in charge of…’ His voice tailed off as he noticed their amused looks.

  ‘What?’ he asked.

  No one replied but their smiles grew broader.

  ‘Was I ranting?’ he asked ruefully.

  ‘You’d slipped into Blizzard-speak,’ said Fee. ‘If we’d let you go any longer, you’d have been advocating hanging for anyone who drops litter.’

  ‘Bloody good idea,’ said Blizzard. ‘I might suggest that next time I meet the chief constable.’

  ‘Sorry,’ said Colley with a wry smile, ‘but I have been thinking a lot about this and I do wonder what kind of a world we will bring our child into.’

>   ‘One,’ said Jay, reaching out to take his hand, ‘where most of our kids are perfectly decent young people trying to make their way in life, just like they always did and always will. And the reason they feel as safe and secure as they do that is because of people like us. Parents. Teachers. Cops. That’s why you can’t go and run your bar just yet, David. You’ve got work to do here.’

  ‘Do you know,’ said Blizzard, ‘you are going to make one hell of a mother.’

  Epilogue

  It was a pleasant early summer afternoon and John Blizzard stood in Hafton Cemetery, enjoying the warmth of the sun on his back and the sound of the birds. Since the events of six months previously, he had found himself visiting the cemetery less and less, but this time something had drawn him back. That morning, the last of the sex ring members had been jailed, Brian Graham had been given a life sentence for conspiracy to murder Jenny Galston and her children. The Keeper team had been there, Colley breaking his paternity leave, and celebrated with a drink in a quiet pub near the court afterwards. It was a strange atmosphere, as if they sensed that they would never sit together in the same room again, and when they left, the embraces were strong and heartfelt. In the previous weeks, eleven other ring members had been jailed. As for Georgia Horwood and Janice Garbutt, they admitted murdering Danny Galston and were given life sentences.

  And now it was all over.

  Blizzard felt weary as he walked over the gravestone and looked down at the inscription.

  Jenny Galston

  Born July 9, 1973

  Died November 13, 2002

  Aged 29

  Chloe Galston

  Born April 4, 1995

  Died November 13, 2002

  Aged 7

  And her beloved sister

  Pauline Galston

  Born June 24, 1992

  Died November 13, 2002

  Aged 10

  Together for eternity. Rest in peace in the arms of the Lord.

  ‘Together again,’ murmured Blizzard. He looked up to the sky. ‘Got them, Harry boy. Got them all for you.’

  He turned and saw Colley walking towards him with a pushchair.

  ‘Thought I would see you here,’ said the sergeant.

  ‘First time out on your own with the little ’un?’ asked Blizzard, looking down at the sleeping baby.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Colley. ‘Jay’s knackered so I thought I’d take the plunge.’

  ‘Good for you,’ said Blizzard, crouching down and gently touching the baby’s ruddy cheek. ‘And how is little Laura?’

  ‘She’s bloody brilliant,’ said the sergeant. He looked at his friend, a troubled expression on his face. ‘Can I ask you something?’

  ‘As long as it isn’t about nappies.’

  ‘No, it’s not.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘You know you always wondered if someone was protecting the sex ring, someone inside the force? Do you still think that?’

  ‘Why do you ask?’

  ‘I’ve been thinking – you do a lot of thinking when you’re up in the middle of the night with a baby – Harry Roberts, when he said he hoped the Galston family could forgive him…’

  The sergeant took a step back at the chief inspector’s expression.

  ‘Sorry,’ he said, holding up his hands. ‘Out of order.’

  ‘It’s not out of order, David, but I don’t think he was protecting anyone. I think Harry felt guilty that he failed to catch Lenny Rowles, simple as that. On the question of bent coppers, Wendy Talbot reckons her mole was some girl in the typing pool.’

  ‘Good.’ He paused. ‘There’s something else. A personal matter.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Well, it’s a bit embarrassing but me and Jay have been talking, and we wondered if you would be Laura’s godfather?’

  ‘But I don’t believe in God and I detest children.’

  ‘Exactly. We can’t think of anyone better qualified.’ The sergeant looked at Blizzard anxiously. ‘Will you do it?’

  Blizzard turned away so that Colley could not see the huge grin on his face.

  ‘I guess I just might,’ he said.

  THE END

  List of Characters

  Hafton Police:

  DCI John Blizzard – head of Western Division CID

  DS David Colley

  DS Max Randall

  DI Graham Ross – head of forensics in Western Division

  DC Fee Ellis

  DC David Tulley

  DC Alan Hayes

  DC Alex Mather

  County force:

  Det Supt Arthur Ronald – head of CID in the southern half of the force

  Det Supt Wendy Talbot – head of the Regional Organised Crime Unit

  Others:

  Gerry Brauner – freelance photographer

  Danny Galston – haulage company owner

  Cara Galston – Danny’s wife

  Ralph Cargill – haulage company owner

  Janice Garbutt – acquaintance of Cara Galston

  Brian Graham – an accountant

  Georgia Horwood – friend of Cara Galston

  Nick Jameson – an architect

  Barry Lawson – police informant

  Jay Priest – Colley’s partner

  Peter Reynolds – Home Office Pathologist

  Desmond Roach – cemetery manager

  Lenny Rowles – Hafton criminal

  THE RAILWAY MAN

  A DCI BLIZZARD MURDER MYSTERY

  John Dean

  Published by

  THE BOOK FOLKS

  London, 2017

  © John Dean

  Polite note to the reader

  This book is written in British English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate.

  You are invited to visit www.thebookfolks.com and sign up to our mailing list to hear about new releases, free book promotions and other special offers.

  We hope you enjoy the book.

  This book is the third murder mystery by John Dean to feature Detective Chief Inspector John Blizzard. It can be enjoyed on its own or as part of a series. Go to the end of this book to find details about the other novels and more crime fiction titles by the same author.

  THE RAILWAY MAN

  John Dean

  Chapter one

  The Spur was ominously quiet when, shortly after midnight, the police patrol car edged its way across the estate’s main quadrangle, its tyres crunching on broken glass. After it had slowed to a halt in the middle of the square, two uniformed police officers got out and stood in silence as they surveyed the scene. Loathe to leave the security of their vehicle, they allowed their gaze to roam along the darkened windows in the blocks of maisonettes that surrounded them. Still not speaking, they glanced at each other, each disturbed by the oppressive silence in the clammy summer night air. Everyone knew The Spur’s reputation. Everyone knew what it could do to the unwary.

  ‘This does not feel right,’ said Gary Canham.

  Brian Robertshaw said nothing. Aged in his mid-fifties and less than a year from retirement, his experience counted for little as he caught something of the young constable’s unease. The sergeant’s mind went back to nightmarish nights spent on The Spur over the years, to the hatred he had seen in the eyes of its residents, to the murderous instincts that had long made it the most feared of the city’s estates, to dancing fires illuminating the night and to hurled insults hanging in the air. Conscious now that the constable would be seeking leadership, Robertshaw tried not to let his unease show as slowly, very slowly, the two officers started to walk across the square, their eyes still seeking out any movement which could signal danger.

  Two floors above them, Tommy Rafferty stood in the stifling shadows of his flat, clutching a half-empty can of cheap lager in his hand and peering down through the gap in the curtains, his breathing heavy and laboured in the silence.

  ‘Welcome to Hell, boys,’ he wheezed and gave a dry, rasping laugh.

  As eve
r, the effort made him cough and Rafferty stepped back into the room, fearful lest it be heard through the open window. The last thing Tommy Rafferty wanted was to get involved with the police. Not now. When he looked back into the square, the officers had disappeared from view and he assumed that they had reached one of the stairwells below him. Careful not to make another sound, Rafferty opened his window a little wider, wincing at the creaking which seemed to reverberate round the empty square. Moving carefully, he leaned out a little: if he listened hard, he could hear their every word on the still night air.

  ‘How can people live here?’ said Canham bleakly as he recoiled at the stench of stale urine coming from the stairwell. ‘I mean, what happened to pride, Bri?’

  ‘It wasn’t always like this. I used to visit my grandad here every weekend when I were a kid. There was a real sense of community in them days.’

  ‘I’ll have to take your word for it,’ grunted Canham.

  With a sour look on his face, he turned and let his gaze roam around the quadrangle once more. Constructed in the Sixties, the estate comprised three identical squares, each one bordered by blocks of maisonettes. Like the others, the square was littered with broken bottles, used condoms and syringes; straggly weeds poked through cracks in the concrete. The blocks themselves were run-down, many of the doors splintered and gashed, numerous windows boarded-up and anti-police graffiti scrawled across the concrete balconies.

  ‘What a dump,’ said Canham.

  ‘And one that’s way too quiet,’ murmured Robertshaw. ‘There’s no way that all this lot fancied a Friday night in with a good book and a Horlicks.’

  The sergeant took a few steps back and glanced at the upper landings directly above him. Rafferty shrunk back into the shadows again.

  ‘Are you sure this is where the truck came?’ asked Canham.