THE DCI BLIZZARD MURDER MYSTERIES: Books 1 to 3

by John Dean

  ‘I guess you’d have found out anyway,’ sighed Gaines. ‘Friday.’

  ‘Jesus Christ, Lawrie. You saw Billy Guthrie on the day he died and you didn’t think to mention it?’

  ‘Would you have done? Didn’t exactly look good for me, did it? Or Roly for that matter.’

  ‘Roly Turner was there as well?’

  ‘Yeah, Guthrie came to see us at the gym.’

  ‘And why,’ asked the inspector, leaning forward and speaking softly, ‘would he do that, Lawrie?’

  ‘You wouldn’t believe me if I told you.’

  ‘Try me.’

  ‘Guthrie came to say sorry.’

  ‘Sorry? Billy Guthrie?’ Blizzard raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Yeah, I was taken aback as well. Said he wanted to apologise for what he had done to our kid.’

  ‘Why on earth would he do that?’

  ‘Guthrie said he was ill, something about having to spend the rest of his life on dialysis. Said he had hooked up with this woman who was going to take care of him, but she was a God-botherer and would only do it if he sought forgiveness for what he had done.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ murmured Blizzard, glancing at Colley. ‘Billy Guthrie seeking forgiveness, now I’ve heard everything.’

  ‘I thought exactly the same,’ said Gaines. ‘But it sounded genuine enough. Not sure I fully believed it, mind. Once a bastard, always a bastard.’

  ‘Any idea if he planned to visit anyone else?’

  ‘He reckoned he was going to see three or four people.’

  ‘You got any names?’

  ‘No. No, hang on, he did say he was going to see some bird. Megan something.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Blizzard, glancing at Colley.

  ‘If you don’t believe what I am saying, go and ask Roly Turner. He was there when all this was happening.’

  ‘I think,’ said Blizzard, ‘that we will do just that.’

  ‘Can I go now?’

  ‘Not until I get to the bottom of this mess,’ said the inspector and headed for the door before turning back and giving a slight smile. ‘Don’t look so downcast, Lawrie, our custody sergeant makes the best damned bacon sandwiches this side of the Haft.’

  * * *

  It was shortly after eight thirty and the light was fading fast when the detectives arrived in a deserted Railway Street. Blizzard parked the car and the officers walked past the dilapidated terraces and up to the boxing club. The building was in darkness but the door was ajar.

  ‘This does not feel right,’ said Blizzard quietly.

  ‘I agree,’ said Colley, glancing round uneasily.

  Gingerly, they pushed their way into the building, peering into the gathering gloom. Noticing a light on in the office, the officers walked across the hall, the sound of their feet reverberating round the empty gymnasium. After hesitating for a few moments, Blizzard glanced at his sergeant and pushed open the office door. Both men saw the body of Roly Turner slumped in the corner.

  ‘I guess he’ll never tell us now,’ said Blizzard grimly.

  ‘He’s dead alright,’ said Colley, crouching down to peer at the body. ‘I’ll check that there’s no one on the premises.’

  ‘Thanks.’

  ‘Do you reckon it was Gayle?’ asked the sergeant, walking out of the office, his voice reverberating round the empty gymnasium. ‘We have been rattling his cage.’

  ‘We have indeed,’ said the inspector. ‘Put the word out, will you. Let’s get him brought in.’

  * * *

  The telephone call came just as Steve McGarrity and his wife were preparing to go upstairs to bed. After standing in the hallway and listening in silence, McGarrity replaced the phone receiver and stared at his wife, who was standing in the kitchen doorway watching him with trepidation, alarmed by her husband’s pale face and eyes wide with fear.

  ‘I think,’ he said quietly, ‘that there’s something you should know.’

  Chapter fourteen

  The next morning, Joe Hargreaves sat staring at the telephone in his living room, hand poised over the receiver. Several times already, he had dialled the first couple of numbers then put his hand on the cancellation button. Now, finally, he dialled the full number.

  ‘Hello, British Transport Police,’ said a voice. ‘Can I help you?’

  ‘Yes,’ said Hargreaves in quiet voice. ‘I would like to talk to Inspector Evans.’

  * * *

  ‘So where are we with this?’ asked Blizzard, walking into the squad room shortly after nine. ‘We really do need to tidy this one up and fast.’

  ‘We’re going as fast as we can,’ said Ramsey.

  ‘Well, work faster. The chief has already been onto Ronald three times this morning, demanding something we can put out to the press. For once, I can see his point: two unsolved deaths will not exactly fill the public with confidence. Have we made any progress?’

  ‘We’ve brought in as many of Turner’s boxing club associates as we can,’ said Ramsey, and he looked at Ellis. ‘And I’ve got Fee checking his background.’

  ‘OK, keep trying. And what about Eddie Gayle? This has got his ugly mitts all over it and it’s the nearest we have ever got to him. Do we know where he is, Chris?’

  ‘He’s still not at home. His wife said he was away on business.’

  ‘I’ll bet he was. Keep looking. And Megan Rees? We need to find out if it’s true that Guthrie came to see her. Any word?’

  ‘Still no sign,’ said Tulley. ‘Neighbours reckon she said she was going away for a couple of days.’

  ‘At least Lawrie Gaines is out of the frame,’ said Colley. ‘We OK to let him go, guv?’

  ‘Yeah, fine. What I do want us to do is…’ but Blizzard was interrupted by a light knock on the door.

  The inspector glanced round and his face broke into a broad grin as he saw a tall uniformed officer walking into the room alongside a stooped white-haired man.

  ‘Mick Evans, as I live and breathe,’ he said, walking across the room and shaking the hand of the new arrival then looking at the pensioner. ‘And you must be Joe Hargreaves.’

  The old man said nothing: he seemed overawed to be in the midst of so many police officers. Leaving Ramsey to marshal the murder investigation, Blizzard led the new arrivals down the corridor and into his office, where he walked over to the kettle on the windowsill.

  ‘Cuppa?’ he asked, glancing at Hargreaves.

  The railman nodded. Blizzard busied himself with teabags and mugs.

  ‘You been keeping busy then, Mick?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, usual stuff. A lot of cable thefts in recent weeks.’

  ‘Ah, well we might just be able to help you on that one. Remind me before you go.’

  Once all three were sipping at their drinks, the inspector looked at his friend.

  ‘So then, Mick,’ he said, looking at the transport officer. ‘You said that you had something that might be of interest.’

  ‘Joe here rang me this morning. It’s my first day back. Been to Madeira, very nice.’

  ‘Alright for some,’ grunted Blizzard. ‘Although I can’t complain, The Spur is always nice at this time of year. Something about August brings out the smell of stale urine. I hope you do not live on The Spur, Mr Hargreaves. If so, I apologise for any offence.’

  ‘I don’t live there,’ said Hargreaves.

  ‘So, what’s this about?’ asked Blizzard, sitting back in his chair.

  Evans looked at Joe Hargreaves.

  ‘I’d rather you told it,’ said the railman.

  ‘Well,’ said Evans, ‘it concerns one of my old cases.’

  The railway yard was virtually deserted and cast into evening shadow when Matty Hargreaves emerged from the hut, haversack slung over his shoulders, his long shift over. As he walked through the carriages on the tracks, he gave a smile as he thought of the pint he planned to have on his way home. It was the thought that had sustained him for most of what had been a sweltering summer’s day. Approachin
g the gate onto the street, Hargreaves fumbled in his overall pocket for the keys. A sound attracted his attention and he turned to see a figure emerging through the gathering gloom. As it neared, Hargreaves felt his heart pounding faster as he realised it was Billy Guthrie.

  ‘Billy – what you doing here?’ he asked.

  ‘I think you know the answer to that.’

  ‘I ain’t got no argument with you, Billy.’

  ‘Oh, but I’ve got one with you, Matty.’

  They were the last words Matty Hargreaves remembered until he woke up in hospital.

  ‘Are you sure it was Guthrie attacked him?’ said Blizzard, who had listened intently to the story.

  ‘Not until this morning,’ said Evans. ‘Not until Joe rang me.’

  Hargreaves looked away.

  ‘Why did it take you so long to clock that it was Guthrie, Mick?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘Well, when we first started investigating, Matty Hargreaves would not tell us who had attacked him or why. I mean, we had our suspicions about why, of course. We went back to see him several times but each time he refused even to make a complaint, so in the end, we gave up. I guess he was scared of Guthrie.’

  ‘A familiar story, Joe,’ said Blizzard, looking at the railman, who had had listened to the story in silence, occasionally dabbing at moist eyes with a handkerchief. ‘Would your brother speak to us now that Guthrie has gone?’

  Joe shook his head.

  ‘Slight problem there,’ said Evans. ‘A year after the attack, Matty dropped dead. He’d been suffering seizures for several months. The doctors said it was one of those that did for him.’

  Hargreaves dabbed at his eyes with his handkerchief.

  ‘Were the seizures connected to the attack?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘The doctors could not say for sure,’ replied Evans. ‘But you’ve got to assume so. He’d never had them before and the scan he had showed up some scarring of the brain.’

  ‘He went through hell,’ said Hargreaves quietly. ‘Fit after fit, it were awful to behold. No man deserves that. I owe to Matty to put this right. Roly suggested I do it.’

  ‘Roly Turner?’ said Blizzard.

  ‘Aye. He came to see me. I didn’t want to ring Mr Evans at first, couldn’t see no point to it, but then when I heard on the radio that Roly were dead…’ His voice tailed off.

  ‘So, what did you tell Inspector Evans?’

  ‘It was just before my brother died,’ said Hargreaves quietly. ‘He knew he were dying. Nobody had told him but he knew. He were in hospital and suddenly he grasps my hand and tells me that it were Guthrie that did it to him.’

  ‘Why did he not tell anyone earlier?’

  ‘He were frightened. Guthrie was a wicked man.’ Hargreaves showed the first signs of anger since he had walked into the room. ‘A truly wicked man. Matty said he were afraid that Guthrie would come back for his wife or one of the bairns if word got out that he had been talking to the police. Told me to keep it secret.’

  ‘And you did?’

  ‘Aye.’

  ‘So, what happened to change things?’

  ‘Guthrie turned up at the house on Friday morning.’

  ‘Your house?’ said Blizzard.

  ‘Aye, I couldn’t believe it. Said he were sorry for what happened to Matty.’

  ‘And you accepted his apology?’

  ‘I just wanted him to leave, didn’t believe he were really sorry.’ The anger was back in Hargreaves’ voice again. ‘I tell you, Mr Blizzard, if I had been twenty years younger, I’d have lamped the bastard. Sitting there drinking my tea and saying he were sorry like that made everything alright. I don’t reckon Roly believed it either.’

  ‘So where does Roly fit into it?’

  ‘We worked together on the railways. Hadn’t seen him for years but somehow he knew what Guthrie had done and that he had come to see me. With Guthrie dead, Roly said it were time to tell the police about what he did to our Matty.’

  ‘Do you know why Guthrie attacked your brother?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘Mr Evans always reckoned it were to do with all the trouble.’

  Blizzard looked at Evans.

  ‘Trouble?’

  Evans was about to reply when Colley stuck his head round the office door.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt, guv,’ he said, ‘but uniform have just lifted Eddie Gayle. And his lawyer is threatening to sue you.’

  ‘No originality,’ said Blizzard. ‘Lawyers have no originality.’

  * * *

  ‘I’m sorry, love,’ said the man at the pound. ‘Really I am.’

  Megan Rees stared down in silence at the dead body of her dog.

  ‘Some sort of virus or something,’ continued the man. ‘We got the vet in but there weren’t nothing we could do about it. Came on real quick.’

  Megan Rees turned and walked out of the building. Once in the street, she pulled out of her pocket a crumpled newspaper cutting and stared down at the picture of Fee Ellis.

  * * *

  Eddie Gayle sat in the interview room and calmly eyed Blizzard and his sergeant. He did not seem unsettled by the predicament in which he found himself. His confidence was well founded because every time he walked free from such encounters, his sense of invincibility grew.

  Blizzard eyed him with thinly-disguised distaste. Perspiring as ever, with stains forming on the armpits of his suit, Gayle mopped his brow in the oppressive heat of the small room. Sitting next to him was Paul D’Arcy, no stranger to police attention. A local lawyer who had become immensely, and mysteriously, rich, he was a thin-faced man in his late thirties, dressed immaculately in a pinstripe suit with a white handkerchief poking out of its breast pocket.

  ‘Right from the outset, I wish to place on my record that this is harassment of my client,’ said D’Arcy.

  Blizzard smiled thinly. It was always the same opening gambit with Paul D’Arcy. Same old, same old.

  ‘And,’ continued the lawyer, ‘I want to make it abundantly clear that we regard my client’s arrest as part of a relentless campaign by the police, particularly you, Blizzard, to blacken Mr Gayle’s good name.’

  ‘Pha! What good name?’

  ‘What’s this about, anyway?’ asked Gayle. ‘I parked my Jag on a double yellow line again?’

  ‘We are investigating the murder of Roly Turner.’

  ‘Yeah, I heard about that on the radio. Pity. Nice man.’ Gayle made no attempt to make the words seem sincere. ‘But I know nothing about that.’

  ‘Word is that you were at the gym on Sunday night.’

  ‘My client,’ said D’Arcy, ‘is a benefactor of many local community organisations. He believes that, having come from humble beginnings, it is important that he puts some of his wealth back into the community.’

  ‘The only reason he would want to support a boxing club is to pick up some muscle,’ said Blizzard dismissively.

  ‘A comment which does not warrant reply, Chief Inspector. However, I am sure that if we looked back through our records, we would discover that my client made a charitable donation to the gymnasium sometime in the past. It may have been that the weekend’s visit was him checking up on the benefits derived from his investment.’

  ‘But he can’t remember?’

  ‘He makes so many donations.’

  ‘Oh, for God’s sake,’ exclaimed Blizzard.

  ‘What particularly interests us,’ said Colley, seeking to calm the atmosphere, ‘is your client’s links with events twelve years ago.’

  ‘Events?’ asked D’Arcy, glancing at his client. ‘What events?’

  ‘A fight in which a young man called Archie Gaines was severely injured.’ Colley looked at Gayle. ‘Does the name sound familiar to you?’

  ‘Never heard of him. Archie, you say?’

  ‘Come on, Eddie,’ said Blizzard irritably, ‘you know exactly who we are talking about.’

  ‘I meet so many people.’

  ‘Then let me refresh your memory – he
was the kid knocked out by Billy Guthrie.’

  ‘Guthrie? Nope, sorry, that name does not ring a bell – as it were.’

  ‘Bloody hell,’ exclaimed Blizzard. ‘This is not a sodding game!’

  ‘Ah,’ said Gayle, a smile playing on his lips, ‘but it is.’

  Blizzard sighed. It was always like this when they had Gayle in for questioning. However, despite his growing annoyance, he remained in control of his emotions and satisfied himself with glaring over the table at his adversary.

  ‘Twelve years ago,’ he said, leaning forward, ‘you fixed a couple of fights.’

  ‘Prove it.’

  ‘Well it certainly becomes more difficult now that the two men with all the answers are dead.’

  Gayle said nothing.

  ‘You may be silent, Eddie,’ said Colley, ‘but others are talking.’

  ‘What people?’ asked Gayle.

  ‘Never mind what people. Suffice to say, the death of Roly has touched a few consciences. There’s plenty of people would love to see us arrest someone for his murder. I am sure they would be delighted if that person was you.’

  ‘I do hope that you are not threatening my client, Sergeant,’ said D’Arcy coldly.

  ‘All I am saying is that there are people happy to testify that your charitable client fixed those fights twelve years ago as part of his attempts to ensure a £25,000 pay-off. Not desperately charitable, Eddie.’

  ‘Is that all this is about?’ said Gayle, sounding relieved at the angle the questioning was taking. ‘What if I did fix a couple of fights? Don’t mean nothing and it certainly don’t mean I killed Turner. You are fishing, as usual.’

  ‘But it is remarkable coincidence,’ said Blizzard. ‘I mean, not only is Roly Turner dead but so is the man who cost you the twenty-five grand in the first place.’

  ‘So?’

  ‘We are wondering if it might just be possible that when Guthrie came back to the city, you decided to settle some old scores. Perhaps you were worried that he would start talking to us. We understand that Guthrie came back to make amends for some of his previous actions. Say sorry.’

  ‘Guthrie say sorry!’ exclaimed Gayle. ‘That’ll be the day.’

  ‘Thought you didn’t know him,’ said Blizzard.