THE DCI BLIZZARD MURDER MYSTERIES: Books 1 to 3

by John Dean

  ‘It’s the cost that worries me, I guess.’

  Ronald looked at his friend intently.

  ‘I was just thinking of the night after the court case,’ explained Blizzard. ‘You know, when Kenny’s folks came to the do? Seeing them so broken up about what had happened, it made me think. Kids, you know. I went to see Maureen a few weeks ago, she’ll never be the same. There’s pictures of him everywhere in the house.’

  ‘It’s the price of loving, John.’

  ‘I know but it’s like he’s not dead.’

  ‘Maybe he’s not.’

  ‘What makes you say that?’ asked the inspector sharply.

  ‘Don’t you feel him here sometimes?’

  Blizzard nodded and the men sat in silence for a few moments, then Blizzard glanced at the clock.

  ‘Are we right about this, Arthur?’ he asked. ‘I mean, if it goes wrong tonight, and we end up looking stupid, we’re finished. The chief will see to that.’

  ‘I didn’t think you did doubts.’

  ‘Yes, but… well, you know,’ Blizzard’s voice tailed off. ‘Thinking of Kenny and all that. And what happened when the patrol car was attacked. We could easily have lost someone. The lads were very lucky. We won’t always be.’

  ‘Yeah, I know but if it goes wrong, it goes wrong. It comes with the territory.’

  ‘I know but…’

  ‘Listen, you and I have talked about this enough times. The point is that we are seen to be there. On that estate. Tonight. In force. What was it you said the day you became DCI? There are no no-go zones, you said. I clearly recall you scrawling it across the noticeboard in the CID room in big red letters.’

  ‘It’s still there.’

  ‘Except someone rewrote it in neater writing.’

  ‘Ramsey did that,’ said Blizzard. ‘My untidy scrawl offended his sense of order in the universe.’

  ‘And he does all his paperwork,’ said Ronald pointedly, glancing at the wastepaper bin.

  There was a knock on the door and the uniformed superintendent walked in. A tall man in his early fifties, with thinning ginger hair and the slightest of moustaches, Jerry Hart nodded at Blizzard and drew up a chair. Blizzard eyed him in surprise: he could not recall Hart ever being in his office, not least because the inspector’s relationship with uniform had tended to be fractious down the years. He had offended too many senior officers with his outspoken comments for it to be any different. Indeed, he had fallen out with Hart on several occasions.

  ‘Ready?’ asked Ronald, glancing at his counterpart.

  ‘All set,’ said Hart. ‘I’ve brought in some extra bodies.’

  ‘Extra? I thought we already had plenty.’

  ‘A bit of insurance,’ said the superintendent, tapping the side of his nose enigmatically. ‘You never know.’

  ‘How much insurance?’ asked Ronald.

  ‘Come with me,’ said Hart.

  The three of them walked down the corridors in silence, the uniform superintendent with an enigmatic smile on his face. Eventually, the sound of voices growing louder, they pushed their way through a large set of doors and emerged into the yard at the back of the station. Blizzard’s jaw dropped as he surveyed the scene: ranged before him were more than twenty police vans, a dozen squad cars and a special incident truck. Milling in between them were more than a hundred uniformed officers, checking their equipment and talking in excited voices about the operation to come. Glancing over to one corner of the yard, the inspector saw Brian Robertshaw, his face still bruised from the attack at the weekend. The sergeant caught his eye and nodded. Blizzard returned the gesture.

  ‘Jesus,’ breathed the inspector, turning to look at Hart. ‘Where did you get all them from?’

  ‘The moment word got out that we were going into The Spur, every police officer this side of the water wanted to be involved. East have sent a couple of vanloads over as well and there’s at least one team from Burniston. There’s a few I’ve never seen before. For all I know, they’re just members of the public who fancied being involved. Oh, and I’ve got three ARVs. Just in case.’

  ‘Insurance indeed,’ murmured Blizzard.

  ‘We nearly lost two good officers on that estate,’ said the superintendent with a sudden fierceness. ‘It’s payback time.’

  ‘And in answer to your earlier question, John,’ said Ronald. ‘Yes, we are right.’

  Chapter seventeen

  Blizzard had never seen the briefing room at Abbey Road so full and the sight gladdened his heart: John Blizzard loved an audience. The sense of anticipation at Abbey Road had been growing steadily for the previous half an hour as more and more officers filtered in from the yard to take their places. Now, the clock was approaching midnight and the assembled officers sat and watched the chief inspector as he made his way through their ranks to the front, the detective occasionally pausing to shake a hand or nod at an old acquaintance.

  On reaching the front, the inspector let his gaze roam round the room, settling briefly on every person in turn, a trick he had used for years and one designed to make every officer feel that they were an integral part of the operation to come. The inspector’s gaze settled briefly on Colley, leaning in his customary position against the wall at the back of the room. Next to him stood Chris Ramsey, the detective inspector constantly fidgeting as he tried to control the nerves that always consumed him on such occasions. Blizzard was not worried: he knew that once the action had started, Chris Ramsey was as dependable as they came.

  Allowing his gaze to run through the ranks of uniformed officers, Blizzard spotted some of his other CID officers as well: Fee sitting next to a burly firearms officer, Tulley at the end of a row and in the process of consuming a chocolate bar, several younger constables in the front. The inspector was assailed, and surprised, by an overwhelming sense of family. He glanced to his right where sat Arthur Ronald, who gave the DCI a nod.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ began Blizzard, his voice quiet. ‘Thank you for turning up at this hour. I know that many of you are off duty and that some have come in off leave: your presence is greatly appreciated. See, I can be nice to uniform.’

  He paused to let the laughter ripple round the room.

  ‘But,’ he said, a sudden steel in his voice. ‘I do not need to tell you that we are going in tonight because we damn near lost two colleagues on The Spur. Garry Canham is still in hospital but Brian is here tonight and we are delighted to see him.’

  Applause ran round the room. Robertshaw nodded his appreciation and seemed close to tears.

  ‘So, let me remind you why we are going in tonight,’ said Blizzard when the applause had died away. ‘For too long, the villains on The Spur have been allowed to get away with their crimes virtually unchecked. Well, tonight that changes. The Spur seems to be part of a network operating across the north and they’ll thieve just about anything. As we sit here, Regional Organised Crime Unit officers are about to launch a series of raids in Sheffield.’

  A murmur ran round the room.

  ‘Your team leaders have details of the properties which we will raid,’ continued Blizzard. ‘Oh, and make sure you read the bloody dockets right – I don’t want anyone barging in on some old wrinkly on the toilet. It’d give the poor old girl a heart attack.’

  Blizzard gave a thin smile and there were some half-laughs.

  ‘Anyway,’ he continued, ‘suffice for me to say that this is a show of force, a clear message to the criminals on The Spur that we will no longer tolerate their behaviour. Tonight, ladies and gentlemen, we take The Spur back.’

  Applause rang round the room.

  ‘And I do not want us to waste this opportunity,’ said the inspector, ‘so I want anything. We’re not just after the gang. I want to see us seize drugs, weapons, anything. If their tax disc is out of date, I want them nicked.’

  ‘What tax disc?’ said a voice.

  ‘I assume,’ said Blizzard, ‘that that was one of our esteemed colleagues from traffic? And
yes, you can check the tread on the tyres if you want. Anything a bit worn and we’ll throw the book at the bastards.’

  More laughter.

  ‘So,’ said Blizzard, ‘whatever we do, let’s make tonight worthwhile. If we balls things up, it will be a long time before we are back on that estate.’

  Many of the officers nodded their heads.

  ‘There is one more thing,’ said Blizzard, holding up a hand: the soft tone of his voice brought a hush to the gathering. He glanced over at Arthur Ronald. ‘I know that tonight is not about Kenny Jarvis but I know that many of you will feel him riding with you when you go onto that estate. And I know that you are angry about what happened to the boys a couple of days ago. However, let’s keep it professional and keep your wits about you. Please remember that The Spur is a dangerous place to be.’

  The inspector paused to let his words have their effect.

  ‘So,’ he said, looking across the room to where Colley was standing, ‘let’s be careful out there.’

  The sergeant grinned, there was a scraping of chairs and a ripple of excited murmuring as the officers headed for the door. Ronald walked over to the inspector and placed a hand gently on his shoulder.

  ‘Good stuff,’ he said.

  ‘Did you like the end bit?’ said Blizzard cheerfully. ‘I got it from Hill Street Blues.’

  * * *

  Tommy Rafferty stood at the window of his flat on The Spur and looked out over the darkened quadrangle.

  ‘It’s only a matter of time,’ he said, turning into the room and looking at Steve McGarrity, who was sitting at the table nursing a can of beer and reading the sports pages of the local newspaper.

  ‘Don’t worry about it,’ said McGarrity, not even glancing up from the paper. ‘Blizzard will be too busy chasing after Eddie Gayle to worry about anything else. And as for Matty Hargreaves…’

  ‘Yeah, but…’

  ‘You know what he’s like. If Blizzard thinks that Gayle is involved he’ll do everything he can to prove it. There’s no way he’s going to bother about anything else.’

  ‘He’s bound to come soon, though,’ said Rafferty nervously, returning his gaze to the deserted quadrangle.

  ‘Relax, Tommy, for God’s sake.’

  ‘It’s not that easy.’

  ‘What do you see, Tommy?’ said McGarrity, finally looking up from the racing results and coming to join him at the window.

  ‘Eh?’

  ‘What do you see?’

  Rafferty peered through the curtains again.

  ‘Nothing.’

  ‘Exactly.’ McGarrity downed the remainder of his beer and walked over to the fridge to get another can. ‘You got anything else apart from Tennent’s?’

  ‘Sorry, Steve, that’s all I’ve got. What has me not seeing owt in the quadrangle got to do with it?’

  ‘Think about it,’ said McGarrity, returning to the table and cracking open the can. ‘What has happened in the last couple of days? Your delightful neighbours damn near killed a couple of cops and Terry Roberts takes a header off the museum roof. And what do the police do? Nothing. Nothing at all. There hasn’t been a police officer within half a mile of this place for the past two days, from what I hear.’

  ‘Yes but…’

  ‘When did you last see a plod on the estate?’

  ‘Blizzard on Sunday.’

  ‘And how long was he here?’

  ‘I don’t know, twenty minutes.’

  ‘Exactly,’ said McGarrity. ‘Twenty minutes. Anywhere else and they would be swarming all over the place.’

  ‘That’s what worries me.’

  ‘I heard that the chief constable has told them to lay off the estate because of all the complaints. And if even if they did come, they wouldn’t come for us. Blizzard would keep us out of it. Take my word for it.’

  ‘I’m not sure. Blizzard always says that…’

  ‘Blizzard,’ snorted McGarrity, returning to his attention to the sports pages. ‘This is way above his head. I tell you, Tommy, the cops are running scared. You can stop worrying about them. They’re not going to do anything.’

  Chapter eighteen

  The convoy of police vehicles rolled into the main quadrangle of The Spur shortly before 12.30am. Blizzard was travelling in the front of the leading van and, as the vehicle slowed to a halt in the centre of the square, the inspector jumped out and looked quickly around him. Noticing curtains flickering in several of the windows on the upper landings and one or two shadowy figures already moving in the shadows, the inspector scowled. He hated The Spur and he hated the vast majority of its occupants but, most of all, he hated the way it had been allowed to get into this state. Perhaps, he told himself, something would change after tonight’s operation. He doubted it.

  Standing by the van, he watched with grim satisfaction as officers poured from the vehicles and started fanning out across the square, their equipment clinking in the silence. Behind him, uniformed officers carrying riot shields moved rapidly to form a cordon so that no one could escape from the quadrangle through the tunnel. The teams had been told that speed was crucial, that they needed to secure the estate before the residents could mount any kind of defence, that there was to be no repeat of Saturday’s events. Blizzard knew that similar scenes were being enacted in the other squares. This was a good old-fashioned lockdown.

  Lights were going on in upstairs windows and he watched as police teams ran over towards the stairwells and disappeared into the darkness. Within seconds, uniforms had appeared on the upper landings and Blizzard nodded his approval. For several minutes, the inspector did not move, letting events unfold around him, standing and listening to the noises of the raid, the shouted warnings of police officers, the tearing sound of doors being smashed down using hydraulic rams and the enraged bellows of arrested men. Glancing up, the inspector smiled broadly as he saw Colley sprinting across one of the landings, closely followed by Ramsey. He knew that both officers had been looking forward to the operation ever since the chief constable had given it official sanction. Blizzard chuckled as he saw the detectives disappear briefly then re-emerge, manhandling a protesting skinhead.

  ‘Boys will be boys,’ he murmured.

  Within a few minutes, the first suspects found themselves being brought down the stairs and out into the square where they were frogmarched towards the waiting vans. Blizzard noticed that one of the first to emerge was the youth who had given him the finger after spitting at the patrol car on Sunday afternoon. The inspector held out a hand to the uniformed officer who was holding him.

  ‘I want a word with this one,’ he said softly and looked at the bewildered youth. ‘If I hear that you are involved in anything dodgy, son, I personally will make sure that they throw the book at you. Never, ever give me the finger again.’

  The youth looked at him with fearful eyes, all bluster and bravado banished. Blizzard gave a thin smile: in that moment, he knew that the balance of power had shifted on The Spur. Having watched the youth being bundled into the back of a van, the inspector turned to see Colley walking towards him, the sergeant still with tight hold of the shaven-headed man. Behind them came Ramsey, clutching a plastic bag and grinning broadly.

  ‘Who he?’ asked Blizzard, nodding at the glowering man.

  ‘Robby Jacobs,’ said the sergeant. ‘Esteemed drug dealer of this parish.’

  ‘And this,’ said Ramsey, holding up the bag, ‘would seem to be his heroin. Isn’t that unfortunate for our Mr Jacobs?’

  ‘Indeed it is,’ said the inspector. ‘Excellent. Chuck him in the van.’

  ‘Oh, Fee will be down in a minute,’ said Ramsey as the sergeant took the arrested man away. ‘You should have seen her go – this huge bloke tried to get away from her and before you knew it, she had him down on the ground, squealing like a pig, arm twisted round his back. Scary woman.’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ said Blizzard.

  ‘Anyway,’ said Ramsey, ‘can’t stop and chat. Got scumbags to arrest
.’

  Blizzard chuckled as the inspector jogged off to hand the bag of heroin to a uniformed officer then turned and headed back towards one of the stairwells, a look of eager anticipation on his face.

  ‘Going well then,’ said Ronald, lumbering up to the inspector as more shouts rent the night air from one of the upper landings. ‘The locals certainly seem to be hacked off about something. Can’t think what that might be.’

  ‘Neither can I. Hey up, that’s tasty.’ Blizzard pointed to a couple of armed officers walking towards them, holding up two shotguns. ‘I wouldn’t mind betting that they were used in that robbery at the Kingston Road supermarket. Ramsey was pretty sure that someone on The Spur supplied the weapons. They’ve found all sorts in the other quadrangles.’

  ‘Good stuff,’ said the superintendent. ‘Think of the effect on the crime figures.’

  Blizzard gave him a look.

  ‘No need to turn your nose up, my boy,’ said Ronald. ‘Targets, always think targets. I’ve got the monthly meeting on Friday and this will come in extremely useful. Extremely useful indeed. Shut a few stuffed shirts up.’

  ‘Hang on, aren’t you a stuffed shirt?’

  Before they could continue the conversation, Fee emerged with her quarry, manhandling the large man across the square towards them.

  ‘Evening, sir,’ she said to Ronald and headed for the nearest van.

  Ronald was about to say something when a particularly loud smashing sound from one of the upper landings attracted their attention and the detectives looked up to see a scuffle taking place between a number of uniformed officers and a couple of burly men. As they watched, the officers gained the upper hand and within moments, the men were being dragged across the quadrangle and placed in vans. Chris Ramsey jogged over to talk to one of the uniforms.

  ‘Who were they, Chris?’ asked Blizzard as he returned.

  ‘Another couple of drug dealers. Found some cocaine this time.’

  ‘Good stuff.’ Blizzard nodded his approval. ‘Those shotguns, do you reckon they were from your Kingston Avenue job?’