THE DCI BLIZZARD MURDER MYSTERIES: Books 1 to 3

by John Dean

  ‘However,’ said Blizzard, letting the laughter subside, his expression suddenly grave, ‘before I call for the toast, I need, albeit reluctantly, to bring up a subject which I acknowledge should have no place at a celebration such as this.’

  Uncomfortable looks spread round the room.

  ‘I need help building up a picture of a man whose body was found near the museum this afternoon. Billy Guthrie.’

  The name seemed to hang in the air but no one spoke. The seconds of silence lengthened.

  ‘Come on, guys,’ said Blizzard insistently, ‘did anyone know him?’

  Heads shook.

  ‘Surely, some of you must have known him. He worked on the railways.’

  ‘Don’t mean he was one of us,’ said one of the railmen.

  ‘Come on, George, surely…’

  ‘We don’t want to get involved, John,’ said the man, standing up and fixing the inspector with a stare.

  Blizzard surveyed him for a moment: he did not really know George Haywood, who was dressed smartly in a suit with a carnation in the buttonhole, his thinning grey hair slicked back with gel. Blizzard seemed to recall that he had once worked in the city’s locomotive works, and fancied that he might even have been a union stop steward, one of those who failed in the fight to save it from closure. Beyond that, Blizzard knew little. Haywood had joined the appreciation society more than a year after its formation but, although always courteous whenever they had met, had not offered to help with the refurbishment of the Old Lady. He had experienced enough of that in his working life, he had once said by way of explanation. That was enough for any man.

  ‘Come on, George,’ said Blizzard. ‘Can you not…?’

  ‘I’ll tell you this for nowt,’ said Haywood, looking round the floor for support. ‘You’ll not be short of people glad to see the back of Billy Guthrie.’

  One or two of the others nodded and some of the railmen stared uncomfortably into their pint glasses. Haywood sat down and took a defiant swig of his beer.

  ‘Aye, best left dead,’ said another voice but, hard as he looked, Blizzard could not see who had spoken.

  ‘Come on, guys,’ said Blizzard, his exasperation showing, ‘I need more than this. This is a murder inquiry.’

  The room fell silent again.

  ‘I’ll get there in the end.’

  ‘Then you get there,’ said another voice.

  Blizzard nodded in defeat.

  ‘OK,’ he said as he held up his glass and gave a smile. ‘Let’s not allow Billy Guthrie to ruin this happy occasion. He wrecked enough things while he was alive, let’s not give him the satisfaction of doing the same thing in death.’

  The atmosphere in the room eased, men relaxed and there was a smattering of applause.

  ‘We are here,’ said Blizzard, glancing at the specially commissioned oil painting of the Silver Flyer which hung on the wall, ‘to celebrate the unveiling of the Old Lady. Please, will you all be upstanding and raise your glasses in her honour.’

  After the clinking of glasses and a round of applause, the rest of the evening went without incident amid anecdotes about the old days and much laughter and back-slapping until, one by one, the railman weaved their way unsteadily out into the night.

  * * *

  Shortly after midnight, Blizzard was perched on a stool at the deserted hotel bar, suddenly feeling weary and pondering whether or not to go up to his room. Because he lived in a village to the west of the city and knew what kind of a night it would turn out to be, he had resolved some weeks previously to leave his car at Abbey Road. Not that the Railway Hotel was particularly pleasant – the rooms were spartan and smelled of damp – but at least it meant he would not have far to stagger. Peering moodily into the bottom of his glass, and wondering whether or not he should order another pint, he became aware of McGarrity approaching.

  ‘We gave her a good sendoff then,’ said Blizzard, smiling at his friend. ‘Drink?’

  ‘Aye, go on, lad.’

  Blizzard ordered two more pints of bitter.

  ‘I can’t help thinking,’ he said as he watched the barman pour the drinks, ‘that we’ve lost something special tonight, Steve.’

  ‘I thought you promised not to say romance,’ said McGarrity, settling down on a stool. ‘Besides, like you said, even if we don’t get the gas loco, there are plenty of others crying out for restoration. I do hear there’s one in some farmer’s field over Halethorpe way. Keeps his chickens in it, would you believe.’

  ‘No, I don’t mean that. I mean the people,’ said Blizzard, nodding his thanks as the barman handed over their drinks. ‘I looked round that room tonight, Steve, and I was the youngest by about twenty years. You know, sometimes in the summer myself and Fee go round the park on a Saturday afternoon and we stop and watch the blokes playing bowls. I look at those old guys and think: Jesus, when you’re gone, what are we left with?’

  ‘Very profound,’ said McGarrity taking a sip of his pint. ‘I’ve never heard the drink more poetic.’

  Blizzard gave a rueful smile. The men sat and drank in silence for a few moments then, when the barman went to clear some glasses from a table in the corner of the room, McGarrity leaned over towards his friend. Blizzard noticed that he seemed ill-at-ease.

  ‘This did not come from me,’ said McGarrity in a hesitant voice.

  ‘Alright.’

  ‘I’m serious,’ hissed McGarrity, glancing round as the barman returned. ‘Let’s sit at that table in the corner. I don’t want to risk being overheard.’

  Once they were seated, McGarrity looked at the inspector.

  ‘You must promise that you will keep my name out of this,’ he said earnestly.

  Blizzard nodded.

  ‘OK. Earlier on tonight, you asked about who might want to kill Guthrie,’ said McGarrity. ‘Well, maybe you should be looking at Lawrie Gaines.’

  ‘And who,’ asked Blizzard, taking a swig of his drink, ‘is Lawrie Gaines?’

  ‘You know that Billy Guthrie was a boxer?’

  ‘Apparently.’

  ‘Well, I used to follow the boxing a bit myself and I went to see him fight plenty of times. There was always a nasty side to Billy Guthrie. It made things more interesting.’

  ‘What?’ said the inspector with a slight smile as he took another drink, ‘you mean that boxers are normally being nice to each other when they try to stove their heads in?’

  ‘There’s a code, John, a code, but Guthrie never seemed to abide by it. He was a bit tapped, if you ask me. I was there the night he tried to make his comeback. He was up against Lawrie’s brother, a local lad called Archie Gaines. He was just a kid.’ McGarrity shook his head sadly at the memory. ‘Just a kid.’

  ‘I heard about this. Sounds like quite a night.’

  ‘Aye, the place was packed, I’d never seen so many people crammed into the Victoria Hall, John, there must have been a thousand of them. And they were all there to see Guthrie. He had been a pretty decent fighter in his time and folks wanted to see if he still had it. I was pretty curious myself.’

  ‘And had he?’

  ‘Na.’ McGarrity shook his head. ‘Before the fight most folks reckoned he would walk it easy but then he took his gown off and we realised that there was no way. He hadn’t boxed for three years and there was no way he had done enough training. He had a beer belly, for God’s sake. Typical Guthrie, mind. God, he was an arrogant bastard. Thought he could waltz in there and take the lad out.’

  ‘I assume Archie was too good for him?’

  ‘Too right he was. Must have been the best part of twenty-five years younger, fit as anything, quick as a jack-rabbit. And he was a good technical fighter, was Archie. Knew how to punch. Billy Guthrie had no answer to him: you could see him getting more and more rattled as the fight wore on.’

  ‘And?’

  Billy Guthrie sat on his stool and stared at the baying mob crammed into the leisure centre’s main hall. The atmosphere was rank with sweat and bad breat
h and the air was filled with the ugly sound of men yelling from twisted faces. Breathing hard from the exertions from the first four rounds, Guthrie felt light-headed and kept blinking to get rid of the blood trickling down from a gash above his right eye. He was aware of a dull ache in his abdomen where Gaines had landed a crushing blow in the first round, a punch that had sent the pain shooting through Guthrie’s body, a blow that made him realise that he should not be there, that he could get himself badly hurt. Billy Guthrie was not used to being hurt.

  ‘Come on, Billy,’ hissed his trainer, sticking his face close to Guthrie’s, ‘he’s fucking murdering you. You got to hit him back.’

  ‘I can’t do it,’ whispered Guthrie. ‘Throw the towel in, Roly.’

  ‘No can do,’ replied the trainer, and Guthrie noticed a strange look come into his eyes. ‘Sorry, lad, you’ve got to see this one through.’

  ‘What’s happening,’ asked the fighter sharply. ‘What ain’t you telling me, Roly?’

  The trainer nodded to a short man sitting in the front row of the audience, watching their conversation intently. Black hair thinning even though he was only in his early thirties, the man was dressed in a sharp black suit, as were the large men sitting either side of him.

  ‘What’s it got to do with him?’ asked Guthrie, alarm in his voice.

  The trainer hesitated.

  ‘Tell me!’ snarled Guthrie.

  ‘He’s got money on you to win,’ murmured Roly, glancing round furtively lest anyone else hear. ‘Big money.’

  Guthrie closed his eyes and felt a sudden vicious throbbing in his head. He opened his eyes again and surveyed the baying crowd.

  ‘Why didn’t you tell me?’ he croaked.

  ‘I didn’t think it mattered. I reckoned the kid would give you the runaround for a couple of rounds then you’d deck him.’ He looked at Guthrie accusingly. ‘You assured me you’d been putting the roadwork in.’

  ‘How much?’ asked Guthrie, noticing the referee walking over towards them and hissing with extra urgency in his voice. ‘How much has he get on me, Roly?’

  ‘Plenty.’

  ‘Come on, lads, are you going to fight?’ asked the referee, peering at Guthrie’s battered features and half-closed right eye. ‘Or do you want to hand it to the kid?’

  Guthrie glanced back to the man in the audience and his shaven-headed heavies. The man fixed him with a stare.

  ‘Well?’ asked the referee. ‘You done?’

  ‘No,’ said Guthrie, struggling to his feet, ‘I’m OK.’

  ‘You sure?’ asked the referee. ‘He’s running rings round you, Billy.’

  ‘I’m OK,’ snarled Guthrie.

  ‘Well, I’m warning you, if he hits you with another couple of punches like he did at the end of last round, I’ll have to stop it.’

  ‘I said I was alright.’

  The referee shrugged. Breathing hard, feeling as if everything was happening far away, Guthrie took a few steps into the ring. Archie Gaines, tall and lean, danced towards him, and Guthrie did not even see the first punch as it tore through his defences and slammed into his face. Vision stained red with blood, Guthrie grunted and sunk to his knees. The sound of the mob seemed to come from another world and he felt his stomach heave. In that moment, he realised how his many victims had felt, sensed the day he had always known would come, the day when someone got the better of him. But in that moment, he knew that whatever it took, this was not that day. Not at the hands of some spotty kid.

  Guthrie hauled himself to his feet. With an enraged bellow, he lunged forward and smashed his head into the startled boy’s face. Gaines swayed for a moment, his eyes registering his shock. Guthrie snapped out a fist and delivered a powerful uppercut followed by a thunderous haymaker. There was a gasp as the crowd heard the cracking of bones and Gaines swayed again for a moment, his features frozen in shock, his eyes wide, his mouth hanging open, the blood pouring from his shattered nose and his arms dangling loose at his side. As the referee stepped quickly forward, Guthrie brushed aside his restraining arm, gave a snarl and advanced on his opponent once more to unleash a final blow. Gaines staggered backwards, blood spattered the air, then his knees gave way and with a sigh he collapsed to lie still on the canvas, lifeless eyes staring up at the ceiling. Guthrie leapt into the top rope and punched the air in exultation.

  ‘Fucking come on!’ he bellowed, ignoring the horrified expressions in the front row. ‘Fucking come on!’

  ‘I have never seen anything like it,’ said McGarrity with a shake of the head. ‘The man was an animal.’

  He took a deep drink of beer as if it would somehow banish the memories of that night, watched in silence by Blizzard.

  ‘I tell you, John, I thought the kid was dead,’ said McGarrity. ‘Everyone thought he was dead.’

  ‘What happened after that?’

  ‘The place erupted. There was folks trying to bring the poor kid round and some people trying to climb into the ring to get at Guthrie. Typical of the man, mind, because he squared up to them, landed a couple of punches. I’ll give him something, he had courage.’

  ‘I don’t think that’s the right word for bullies like him. What happened next?’

  ‘Guthrie got himself out through a back door in the end. Course it was the end for him – he was given a lifetime ban. Mind, he had disappeared by then so not sure it made much difference.’

  ‘And you reckon there was a lot of money on the fight?’

  ‘I’m just telling you what I heard,’ said McGarrity, adding quickly, ‘nothing was ever proved, mind.’

  ‘But you knew?’

  ‘Everyone knew, John.’

  ‘And this guy on the front row, what was his name?’

  McGarrity did not reply and Blizzard thought he detected a hint of fear in his eyes.

  ‘Come on, Steve,’ said the inspector. ‘You know I’ll keep it in confidence.’

  ‘You make sure you do,’ hissed McGarrity, glancing around even though the bar was empty and the barman had left the room carrying some glasses, ‘because if you don’t, you’ll end up fishing me out of the canal. It was Eddie Gayle.’

  ‘Now there,’ said Blizzard, his eyes gleaming, ‘is a thing.’

  ‘Just keep me out it.’

  ‘I will. It’s a while since Eddie Gayle and I have had a nice cosy chat. And Archie Gaines? What happened to him after the fight?’

  ‘Kid tried to go back to work. He was a lathe worker. Only lasted a few days. My mate worked with him, said that they had to lay him off. The lad was a liability. A couple of weeks later, he had some sort of stroke or something and that was that.’

  ‘And the brother – what did Lawrie do?’

  ‘The word was that there was a set-to with Guthrie in the changing room after the fight. Folks reckon Lawrie threatened to kill Guthrie but it could have been pub talk. Mind, Lawrie always was a hothead. Maybe he finally carried through with it. Maybe that’s why you found Guthrie today.’

  ‘Possible, I suppose,’ said Blizzard, taking another swig of his pint. ‘But if he was going to have done it, he would have done it a long time ago, surely.’

  ‘Yeah, but Guthrie vanished, remember. Besides, there’s something else you should know. See, Archie’s dad took it all really hard, died a couple of months later. Folks said it was of a broken heart. You know how people say these things. Anyway, after the dad dies, Lawrie reckoned he could not look after his brother. Felt really guilty about it but the kid had to go into a home. Not around here, over in the Midlands somewhere.’ McGarrity paused for effect. ‘I heard that he died three weeks ago. And that means Lawrie Gaines has lost both of them because of what happened that night.’

  With that, he downed his pint and walked unsteadily from the room. Blizzard stared after him then glanced at his watch, fished his mobile phone out of his jacket pocket and dialled a number.

  ‘Sorry to ring at this hour,’ he said.

  ‘No bother,’ said Colley, glancing down at the baby
lying on the floor, watching his every movement with beady eyes. ‘We are watching Cagney and Lacey. Say hello to your godfather, Laura.’

  ‘Hello, Laura,’ said Blizzard down the phone, grinning foolishly. ‘Listen, when you were doing the background checks into Guthrie tonight, did the name Lawrie Gaines crop up?’

  ‘You talking to me or the baby?’

  The sergeant heard the inspector’s low laugh down the phone.

  ‘You,’ said Blizzard. ‘So did Lawrie Gaines’ name come up?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said the sergeant. ‘Ross mentioned him. Brother of the kid who got hurt in that boxing match. What of it?’

  ‘Turns out that Archie Gaines died three weeks ago and I’m wondering if that makes the brother our main suspect for Billy Guthrie.’

  ‘We’ll add him to the list.’

  ‘List? Are there others?’

  ‘You have no idea,’ said Colley. ‘Three of us spent tonight tracking down some of the people who had fallen foul of Guthrie. I tell you, guv, this guy made enemies like the rest of us have pints of beer, which from the sound of your voice you have done tonight.’

  ‘I’m not drunk,’ said Blizzard but was acutely conscious that his voice had slurred as he said it.

  ‘Of course not.’

  ‘Anyway,’ said the inspector, ‘drunk or sober, I reckon Lawrie Gaines has got to be worth a tug.’

  ‘Ahead of you on that one. We checked the house but it was deserted. I’ve got people keeping an eye on it.’

  ‘Are we any nearer to tracing Guthrie’s movements?’

  ‘We have had one or two reports suggesting that he might have come back to the city on Thursday night, the day before the murder. But quite what he was doing, we’re not sure at the moment.’

  ‘So where was he between then and when he got killed?’

  ‘Not sure of that either. The reports are from different parts of the city.’

  ‘I’m going to go back to the factory and see what’s happening,’ said Blizzard, downing his pint and slamming it on the table so loudly that the barman glanced over at him.

  ‘No need, guv. It’s all in hand and they’re going to ring me if Lawrie Gaines turns up. I reckon the other things can wait until morning. Besides, Cagney has just arrested the villain – there’s no need to worry.’