THE DCI BLIZZARD MURDER MYSTERIES: Books 1 to 3

by John Dean

  ‘Roly,’ he said. ‘Long time, no see.’

  ‘I had to come. I think it’s time we had a talk.’

  ‘I think you are probably right.’ Hargreaves gestured inside. ‘I’ll put the kettle on.’

  * * *

  ‘Come on, Steve,’ said Blizzard, unable to conceal the frustration in his voice. ‘I really do need your help. If there’s a chance I can bring in Eddie Gayle then I really need to get some more…’

  ‘I should have kept my trap closed last night,’ said McGarrity flatly. ‘I was drunk.’

  Dusk had fallen over Hafton and the two men were sitting, cradling cans of lager, at the kitchen table in McGarrity’s terraced house. The councillor had lived for thirty-five years in the area close to Tenby Street railway station. There had been a time when it seemed that the house would succumb to the bulldozers, his street listed among those earmarked for the city council’s demolition programme. However, at the last moment, the planners had altered the scheme and McGarrity’s home had survived. McGarrity had always been evasive when questioned about the late stay of execution, his only response an enigmatic smile.

  Normally, Blizzard’s Sunday night visits to see his old friend were pleasant occasions, the two men yarning endlessly about the golden age of steam, but this time there was tension in the air. It started with Blizzard’s unannounced arrival: McGarrity had appeared nervous and ever since he had arrived, Blizzard had noted his friend’s unwillingness to talk about the events surrounding Guthrie’s death and now, as the last rays of the summer sun streaked the evening sky, the inspector decided to try one last time.

  ‘Look,’ he said, ‘I can understand that you are unwilling to…’

  ‘I’ve told you all I can.’

  ‘I don’t believe that.’

  ‘Well, it’s the truth, John.’

  Blizzard took a sip of his lager and eyed his friend for a few moments.

  ‘Come on, Steve,’ he said, his voice more conciliatory, ‘it was you that pointed me in Gayle’s direction in the first place. Remember?’

  ‘I said you should look at Lawrie Gaines, John. I never said you should look at Eddie Gayle. Jesus, man, you know what happens to people who cross him. If word gets out that I said anything, you’ll be looking for me in the canal.’

  ‘Don’t worry, I said I’d keep you out of this.’

  ‘Don’t worry! That’s easy for you to say but you know the truth, John. Nobody is kept out of it when Eddie Gayle is concerned. I’m sitting here dreading the knock on the door.’

  Both men started when the doorbell rang.

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ gasped McGarrity then suddenly relaxed. ‘No, actually that will be Tommy.’

  ‘What’s he doing here?’

  ‘He said he might pop round for a drink,’ said McGarrity, getting up. ‘But I tell you now, John, he’ll react the same way I did when you said you wanted Gayle.’

  As McGarrity headed out into the hallway, Blizzard walked out of the back door and into the yard. A sultry stillness had settled over the night, an oppressive heaviness that seemed to dampen sound: the noise of the traffic on the bypass seemed strangely dulled. The inspector stared out into the neatly-kept yard with its colourful pots of flowers, the blooms trailing their way along the red-brick wall. Down at the far end, disappearing into the gathering darkness, stood a small outhouse with a yellow door, in front of which was a wooden trellis archway trailed with a climbing rose, the fragrance pungent in the night air. The inspector took another sip of his lager and sighed: this was no place for harsh words between friends.

  Listening to the hushed conversation in the hallway, but unable to make out the words although he did think he detected a third voice, Blizzard allowed his mind to roam to his enmity with Eddie Gayle. Gayle was well known to the police, a man who stalked the darker areas of the city, spreading his own brand of fear and hatred. And yet he had proved, so far at least, an ‘untouchable’ for the police even though Blizzard and his detectives had been after him for years.

  Gayle’s ‘legitimate’ business was property but behind what little respectability his flash motors and cheap suits afforded him, Gayle was a crook and a thug. He spent little money on his houses and, despite the extortionate rents he charged for the rooms, most of them were pits of squalor with damp walls, curling wallpaper, tatty carpets and rickety furniture. Those who complained or fell behind on the rent received a visit from Gayle’s enforcers.

  Hearing the men walking along the hallway, Blizzard returned to the kitchen and awaited their arrival. He was not surprised to see the third man with them when they walked into the kitchen. He knew the others were good friends with George Haywood. When Blizzard had seen him at the railwaymen’s dinner the night before, Haywood had been wearing a suit, now he was attired in a more casual manner in a pale blue shirt and a pair of brown trousers. He shared the nervous expressions of the others, each of them eying him with looks which made it clear that they would rather he was not there.

  ‘What you here for?’ asked Rafferty bluntly.

  ‘Just a social visit, Tommy.’

  ‘Why don’t I believe that?’ said Rafferty, accepting the proffered can of lager from McGarrity and sitting down heavily in a chair at the table.

  He took a few seconds to recapture his breath then cracked open the can. Haywood took a beer out of the fridge and leaned against the cooker. He seemed ill at ease.

  ‘Look,’ said Blizzard. ‘I know this is difficult for you. For all of you.’

  ‘Too true it is,’ said Rafferty.

  ‘Where you been tonight then?’ Blizzard tried to strike a more conciliatory tone: the prickly atmosphere was not conducive to obtaining information.

  ‘Down the Club.’ Rafferty nodded at George Haywood. ‘Been toasting the Old Lady’s health.’

  ‘My head would seem to suggest that we did enough of that at the do,’ said Blizzard ruefully.

  The others laughed and the atmosphere relaxed slightly.

  ‘So why are you here?’ asked Haywood.

  ‘Getting nowhere with my investigation. Need help.’

  ‘Look,’ said Rafferty, glancing at the others, ‘I told you, we don’t want to get involved.’

  ‘Yeah, Eddie Gayle does that to people,’ said Blizzard. ‘Roly Turner was the same.’

  ‘Not surprised,’ said Rafferty.

  ‘You know him?’

  ‘Used to work with him when we were on the railways,’ said Rafferty. ‘Even did a bit of coaching for him down the club when I were younger.’

  ‘And did Eddie Gayle ever…?’

  ‘I ain’t talking about him,’ said Rafferty quickly, taking a swig of his drink. ‘Besides, it’s not just Eddie Gayle that’s causing the problems. Look at it from my point of view. I heard you were on the estate seeing Terry Roberts’ mum. People always get funny when you turn up. People know that we are friends.’

  ‘That’s why I asked to meet here. Make it easier for you.’

  ‘Why is CID involved anyway?’ asked McGarrity. ‘I thought it was an accident that the lad fell off the roof.’

  ‘We reckon Terry Roberts was on the roof in the furtherance of crime.’

  ‘Furtherance of crime? That what they call it?’ Rafferty gave a low laugh. ‘Besides, why would someone from The Spur be into crime?’

  ‘It does sound ridiculous now you say it,’ said Blizzard and allowed himself a smile.

  ‘I still don’t see why you would be interested in that,’ said McGarrity. ‘I didn’t think that chief inspectors did that kind of thing. I thought you left it to lowly constables.’

  ‘There may be a link between Gayle and Terry’s death. Look, all I’m asking is…’

  ‘Right, that’s it, I’m going,’ said Rafferty, getting to his feet.

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ said Haywood, placing his can on the worktop. ‘No way I want to be involved in anything like this.’

  ‘No, no,’ said Blizzard, also standing up and gesturing for him to sit
back down. ‘I should be the one to go. Just think about what I said, though, will you?’

  ‘And you think about us,’ said McGarrity. ‘We’re just ordinary blokes, John. Just ordinary blokes. And it ain’t fair to put us in this position.’

  As Blizzard walked out into the hallway. He sighed to himself: like he always said, Eddie Gayle did that to people.

  * * *

  After the inspector had gone, the three men sat drinking long into the night, their conversation urgent and hushed. They tried to look relaxed when McGarrity’s wife came in from the bingo but she realised immediately that something was wrong. Not that any of them would admit it. They did not need to: Margaret McGarrity had known for several days that something was troubling her husband, she could see the fear in his eyes. And Rafferty, he had been different, edgy, snappy. Not like his usual self. George Haywood she did not really know but he also seemed on edge as he sat at the kitchen table. She noticed how he refused to meet her gaze.

  After bidding them good night, Margaret walked slowly up the stairs to bed but found herself unable to sleep, conscious only of the low murmur of conversation down in the kitchen. Finally, she did drift off but was jerked awake when the phone rang, its shrill tones cutting through her disturbed dreams. Sitting up in bed, she realised that her husband was still downstairs. Reaching over to the bedside clock, she saw that it was after two in the morning. Padding quietly along the landing, she paused on top of the stairs and stared down at her husband, who was standing by the little table in the hallway, listening to the voice on the other end of the line.

  ‘Just you keep your mouth shut,’ he hissed. ‘No one needs to know about Matty Hargreaves.’

  Margaret McGarrity could not catch the reply – the person on the other end seemed to be speaking in a low voice – but whatever was said, it frightened her husband. Slowly he put the receiver down and walked back into the kitchen, the walk of a man who seemed to have aged before her eyes. He did not look up.

  Chapter twelve

  ‘Are you sure about this?’ asked Ronald. ‘I mean, really sure? Megan Rees is our main suspect, for God’s sake and you want to let her go. Think of the flak that will fly if you are wrong.’

  ‘I’ll add it to the rest,’ said Blizzard.

  It was shortly after three on Monday afternoon and the two officers were sitting in the superintendent’s office, cradling their customary mugs of tea, the inspector having returned to the station a few minutes previously.

  After a day of largely fruitless inquiries, he had taken himself to one of his favourite places. He had long found himself drawn to the River Haft running through the city, beguiled by the gentle lapping of its waters, and had felt his mind settling the moment he parked his car and walked down the foreshore, the gravel crunching underfoot. He had, in his time, spent many long hours sitting and watching as the huge tankers plied their trade, bound for the chemical complex on the southern bank of the Haft. As Blizzard stood and watched, a small pleasure boat cruised past, heading for the city’s new marina, early evidence of the river’s regeneration. And as Blizzard took in all these sights, his mind turned the case over and over and he made his decision.

  ‘I mean, why would you want to release Megan Rees at this stage of the inquiry?’ asked the superintendent. ‘Surely she must be one of your main suspects?’

  ‘There’s nothing to link Megan Rees to the death of Billy Guthrie. It’s wrong to keep her in.’

  ‘But the credit card that Ross found on the wasteland?’

  ‘I am sure it was a plant. And a crude attempt at that.’

  ‘By whom?’

  ‘Not sure yet. Look, Arthur, I just do not think she is the murderer.’

  ‘But the psychiatrist…’

  ‘Pish,’ exclaimed Blizzard, his antipathy to anyone with an ‘ist’ at the end of their job-title well known throughout Abbey Road. ‘That girl is as sane as you or me. Come on, Arthur, if she wasn’t in that unit, what would we have to hold her on? Give me one shred of evidence that would stand up in court if we had got appeal for an extension.’

  Ronald did not reply.

  ‘I asked Chris Ramsey the same question,’ continued Blizzard. ‘Thought I would see what the voice of the moral majority had to say for itself, and he could not give me an answer either. I ran it past Ross as well and he said the same thing and, as for Colley, he reckons…’

  ‘Thanks for coming to me first,’ said the superintendent acerbically. ‘I assume you had a word with the cleaner as well?’

  ‘Yeah, but she started talking about the social cohesion of post-war mental health legislation while shoving Domestos down the toilets, so I left her to it. Sorry, Arthur, but I wanted to try it out on other people before I brought it to you. Get my ducks in a row, as those senior officers incapable of independent thought would say. Unless you have any bright ideas, we have to release her.’

  Ronald shook his head.

  ‘In which case,’ said Blizzard, ‘can you talk to the shrink and get her out of there? Let’s be honest, you did lean on him a bit to put her there in the first place so we could have a bit more time.’

  ‘It’s all rather irregular,’ said Ronald unhappily. ‘He wasn’t exactly delighted to be involved in the first place. Why can’t we leave her in there and let things run their course? She’ll get out eventually.’

  ‘I am sure she will,’ said Blizzard downing his tea and standing up, ‘but I really do not want to wait much longer. How the hell can we keep her under surveillance if she’s stuck in a padded cell trying to persuade some doctor that she’s not Napoleon Bonaparte?’

  Ronald watched his friend stride out into the corridor.

  ‘Now that’s my boy,’ he said, then his face clouded over and he shouted after the inspector. ‘Hang on, does that mean you think she killed him or not?’

  ‘Yes,’ said the inspector.

  * * *

  It was just after six when Blizzard and Colley got out of the inspector’s car and walked up the steps to The Oaks, to be met by the unsmiling figure of Mrs Randolph.

  ‘I have to say that this is most irregular,’ she said tartly, ignoring the officers’ proffered handshakes.

  ‘Strangely enough,’ said the inspector as they walked into the hallway, ‘that was the word used by my superintendent.’

  ‘Yes, well in my view, both of you need to learn more respect for the ways of the NHS. Normally people tend to stay with us for longer than this in order that a full assessment can be conducted.’

  ‘Hey, don’t blame me,’ said Blizzard innocently. ‘Blame the shrink.’

  ‘The psychiatrist,’ said Mrs Randolph angrily, ‘expressed similar reservations to mine. He feels that she really should be kept here until she has undergone a thorough…’

  ‘Look, Mrs Randolph,’ said Blizzard. He gave her one of his stares and noted with disconcertion that it appeared to have little effect. ‘I really do not have time for all this. If you want to take it further, talk to my superintendent. Arthur Ronald. Nice man, you’ll like him.’

  ‘Your superintendent was the one that seems to have suggested that the psychiatrist recommend her release. He was most insistent.’

  ‘There you are, I said it was nothing to do with me.’

  Colley smiled slightly: Blizzard had always detested officious people and, in the sergeant’s view, there were few more satisfying sights than watching the chief inspector dealing with them. A door to their left opened and one of the nurses led out Megan Rees, who stared calmly at the detectives.

  ‘I told you I was not mad,’ she said.

  ‘The ways of the medical world,’ said the inspector with a shrug. ‘They’re a mystery to me as well, Megan. Anyway, you are free to go now. We’ll drive you home.’

  ‘I have ordered a taxi.’

  ‘For why?’

  ‘I’ve had enough of police cars,’ said Megan and with a hard stare at Mrs Randolph, she walked out of the building and down the gravel path.

 
Hearing the sound of a car’s horn in the street, she quickened her stride. The detectives stood at the top of the steps and watched her in silence. As the gates opened, she turned.

  ‘Oh, and Mr Blizzard?’ she shouted.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘Don’t think of getting someone to tail me.’ She gave a crooked smile. ‘I’ll only spot them.’

  ‘And what exactly,’ murmured Colley to the scowling inspector, ‘have you got in mind for plan B?’

  ‘I take it everything is in place?’

  ‘Yeah, we’ve got a car round the corner, but she does seem to be pretty clued up.’

  ‘I blame television,’ said Blizzard. ‘They all think they’re bloody detectives now.’

  ‘Yeah, Laura’s learning loads from Cagney and Lacey.’

  The gates swung slowly open and Megan Rees disappeared from view. Both officers wondered if they would ever see her again. It was as the detectives were getting into their car that the radio crackled into life.

  ‘Message for DCI Blizzard,’ said a man’s voice. ‘Lawrence Gaines has been spotted.’

  ‘Where?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘One of our traffic patrols saw him on the Docks Road. He’s on foot and carrying a suitcase.’

  ‘OK, can you tell them to meet us there,’ said Blizzard, switching on the engine. ‘Oh, and can someone ring the Port Police and square it for us to go onto their patch, please? We don’t want a repeat of the debacle from last time. We couldn’t move for people spitting their dummies out.’

  ‘Will do, sir,’ said the man and the line went quiet.

  ‘Now where on earth,’ said Blizzard, glancing at his sergeant as the inspector guided the car down the drive, ‘would our Mr Gaines be going at a time like this?’

  ‘Maybe he fancied a holiday,’ said Colley, reaching into his suit jacket pocket and fishing out his mobile phone. ‘I know how he feels. Talking of which, better ring home.’

  ‘When this is over,’ said the inspector as the car edged into the road, ‘you are going to take some of those lieu days. Tell Jay I said that, will you? Tell her I said that you need to look after yourself now you’re a dad.’