THE DCI BLIZZARD MURDER MYSTERIES: Books 1 to 3

by John Dean

  ‘I’d like to think so. Oh, before I forget, Wendy Talbot has been on: they have nicked Barry Roberts in Sheffield and, get this, a couple of lads from The Spur who were actually in the act of delivering knock-off gear.’

  The detective inspector headed off to rejoin the fray. By now, crowds of people had gathered on the landings, many roused from their beds by the noise. Round the edges of the square and there were ugly murmurings as officers continued to bring out arrested men. Blizzard glanced round and saw Colley ambling over, blood dribbling from a cut on his cheek. The sergeant was speaking earnestly into his mobile phone.

  ‘You OK?’ asked the inspector, eying the wound with concern.

  ‘Absolutely fine,’ said the sergeant, his eyes bright in the blue light thrown from the ranks of police vehicles.

  ‘Don’t you need to get that seen to?’ asked the inspector, gesturing to the gash, then looking at Ronald. ‘Don’t I need to fill a health and safety at work form before he can go back to lifting villains?’

  ‘Much as I am a great adherent of paperwork, I think we can cut a corner on this one. Just this once, mind.’

  ‘Besides,’ said Colley. ‘You should see the other guy. His nose is straight but only if he leans to one side.’

  Blizzard roared with laughter.

  ‘Oh, and that was Danny on the phone,’ said Colley ‘They’ve lifted George Haywood. He’s on his way into Abbey Road. Seemed really shocked that he’d been arrested. Danny reckons he’ll talk pretty easily.’

  ‘In which case,’ said Blizzard, glancing up at Rafferty’s flat and noticing a movement of the curtains, ‘I guess it it’s time we got this over with.’

  Together, the officers walked across the square and up the stairs until they emerged onto the landing. Without speaking, they walked past a group of uniform officers who were marching a struggling man out of his flat. A group of youths came out of another flat and defiantly barred the detectives’ path. The inspector recognised the youth who had confronted him the last time he was on the estate, the one who had leaned over the balustrade and hurled the insult about Kenny Jarvis. For a brief moment, their eyes met.

  ‘Not so big now, are we, son?’ said Blizzard through thin lips.

  ‘I’ll have you for this – I know where you fucking live!’

  ‘Unfortunately, I know where you live as well,’ said the inspector, bringing his face close to the youth’s again. ‘Just take a look around you, look at all those police officers and ask yourself who’s the one who should be bricking himself?’

  The glanced behind him and saw a number of uniformed officers closing in.

  ‘If you and your little mates don’t move in the next two seconds,’ said Blizzard, ‘I’ll have you all nicked. And who knows what we might find when we search your flats.’

  The youths stepped aside. Blizzard walked past him and knocked on Tommy Rafferty’s door. After what seemed like an age, the door opened and Rafferty stood there, his eyes wide with fear when he saw the inspector and his sergeant.

  ‘Blizzard,’ said Rafferty nervously, ‘what the hell is happening?’

  ‘A little social visit, Tommy.’

  ‘Well make it look good,’ hissed Rafferty. ‘I don’t want people to think that I gave you information about what…’

  ‘Tommy Rafferty,’ said the inspector. ‘I am arresting you on suspicion of involvement with the murders of William Guthrie and Roland Turner. That good enough for you?’

  Rafferty’s mouth fell open.

  ‘Take him away,’ said the inspector to the uniforms who had entered the flat. He noticed a figure lurking at the living room door. ‘Ah, two for the price of one. Good evening, Steven. I was rather hoping that I might find you here. I think we need a little chat, don’t you?’

  ‘What about?’ said McGarrity, stepping forward and giving a forced smile.

  ‘You know damned well what about!’ exclaimed Blizzard. ‘Playing me for a fool, that’s what it’s about.’

  ‘I have no idea what…’

  ‘We’ve arrested George Haywood,’ said Colley.

  McGarrity dropped the can he was holding. Blizzard watched the beer making rivers along the hallway.

  ‘I think,’ said the inspector quietly, ‘that the party might just be over.’

  ‘Jesus Christ,’ breathed McGarrity and slumped against the wall, his face drained of colour.

  Blizzard glanced back to where more uniformed officers were waiting.

  ‘Get them out of here,’ he said.

  Following the two arrested men out onto the landing, Blizzard saw Ramsey walking towards him.

  ‘How’s it going?’ asked the chief inspector.

  ‘The paperwork will keep us going for weeks. I may even have to colour code it.’ Ramsey gave a broad grin. ‘Bloody marvellous.’

  ‘Glad you’re enjoying yourself,’ said Blizzard.

  He continued along the landing towards the stairs, a broad smile on his face. The inspector was following his officers down the stairs when shouting erupted in the quadrangle as a youth broke free of his captors. Staring round wildly, he lashed out at the nearest uniform, catching the constable in the face. The officer screamed in pain and staggered backwards and the youth dashed up the nearest stairs. Half-way down, Blizzard could hear the boy’s pounding feet and seconds later, the terrified teenager emerged out of the gloom onto the middle landing.

  ‘Come on, son,’ said the inspector, holding out a hand. ‘It’s pointless running.’

  There was a glint of steel in the darkness and a knife appeared in the teenager’s hand. Blizzard gave a cry and threw up an arm to protect himself but he was too slow and the weapon slashed into his shoulder. The inspector felt a sudden pain shoot down his arm and with a grunt, he sunk to his knees, his mind reeling as he felt the pain coming in relentless waves. Lying in the stinking stairwell, staring up at the ceiling and hearing voices coming as if from afar, Blizzard was vaguely aware of Colley wrestling the youth to the ground and the clink of the knife falling onto the concrete steps. Lying there, drifting in and out of consciousness, Blizzard saw images of Kenny Jarvis’s smiling face flashing before his eyes. It was the last thing he remembered.

  * * *

  The square fell silent as the ambulance crew brought an unconscious Blizzard out of the stairwell on a stretcher, accompanied by Fee Ellis, who clung onto his hand as she fought back the tears. The stretcher was borne through the ranks of police officers and loaded carefully into the ambulance. No one spoke: many of the officers had been there the night a similar scene was enacted as the body of Kenny Jarvis was taken away. Even the estate’s residents had been stunned into silence. The ambulance edged its way past the police vehicles and vans and out through the tunnel and into the orange glow of the street lights on the main road. As it disappeared into the night, its blue lights flashing, Ronald stood with a gaggle of detectives, an empty feeling deep within. He and Blizzard went back twenty-five years and the superintendent recalled the many times he had said to the inspector, ‘do you know, my life would be a lot better without the aggravation you cause me’. He knew now, knew every time he said it, that nothing could be further from the truth. The superintendent turned and saw Colley.

  ‘You OK?’ asked Ronald.

  Colley nodded but could find no words: he turned away lest the superintendent see him crying.

  ‘How is he?’ asked a voice and Ronald turned to see Brian Robertshaw walking towards him.

  ‘The medics reckoned the knife went in quite deep.’

  ‘I hope he’s OK,’ said Robertshaw. ‘He gave us some pride back tonight.’

  ‘It’s a high price to pay for it,’ said Ronald, glancing round at the ranks of silent and grim-faced police officers. ‘A high price indeed.’

  Chapter nineteen

  David Colley walked through the custody suite at Abbey Road shortly before 9am, having gone home to snatch a couple of hours’ sleep before making the weary journey back to the police station. He had
not slept much, his disturbed dreams full of images of Blizzard on the stretcher. Glancing at the cells, the sergeant sighed. He knew that this should be a jubilant occasion, that in just an hour’s work, Western Division had sent shockwaves rippling through the city’s criminal fraternity. That this was probably Blizzard’s finest moment, his crowning achievement.

  The raid had indeed been an outstanding success, it was the main story on the regional news and it had featured on national television. The chief constable had given numerous interviews, in each of which he had praised the courage of Blizzard but had given little update on his condition. Colley paused to survey the cells: locked behind the grey doors were a number of men who had come to think of themselves as untouchable down the years, who had laughed in the face of the police, but who were now under no illusions that the police had the power and the will to move against their criminal adversaries.

  ‘Result, guv,’ murmured Colley.

  As he approached the custody desk, a grey-haired uniformed officer looked at him anxiously from behind the counter.

  ‘How’s your gaffer?’ asked the custody sergeant.

  ‘Still no word,’ said Colley.

  ‘You were there when it happened, I think.’

  ‘We’d just got a couple of prisoners down into the yard when this scroat made a break for it. Next thing I know, Blizzard’s down and the kid’s waving his knife around and threatening to take the rest of us with him.’

  ‘I’ve got him in cell nine. The kid’s cacking himself.’

  ‘I’ll be he is. He’s only seventeen, for God’s sake.’

  ‘Heard you took him down. You’ll get a commendation for that.’

  ‘Not sure it counts for much,’ said Colley and walked out of the custody suite.

  ‘Send Blizzard our regards,’ shouted the officer after him. ‘Tell him all uniform are thinking about him.’

  Colley turned and gave a slight smile.

  ‘Thanks for that,’ he said. ‘It’ll mean a lot to him.’

  Colley wandered up the stairs and through the corridors, stopping numerous times to answer the queries from concerned officers wanting to know how Blizzard was. As he approached the CID room, the sergeant saw Arthur Ronald coming the other way.

  ‘Any news, sir?’

  ‘Nothing definite.’

  ‘If only I’d got to him quicker,’ said the sergeant, slamming a fist against the wall. ‘If only I’d…’

  ‘Ah, if only, if only, Sergeant. I could solve every problem in the world with if only. If only I hadn’t told him to get us onto the estate, if only he’d not wanted to arrest Rafferty himself, if only, if only. But don’t worry,’ Ronald gave a slight smile and started walking down the corridor, ‘John Blizzard is a tough cookie. I wouldn’t write him off too quickly.’

  Colley watched him go. Was there, he asked himself, just the slightest hint of jaunty swing in the big man’s walk? At a time like this? Colley shook his head to dismiss the idea and walked into the squad room, taking a seat at his desk and staring moodily out of the window. The atmosphere was sombre as, over the next few minutes, the team reassembled, bleary-eyed, weary of step, each one sitting at their desks trying to look busy but unable to concentrate on their work: there were other, more worrying things to think about and there had been no news from the hospital for four hours. None of them spoke: it did not seem the time. Shortly after 9.30am, Chris Ramsey walked into the office and surveyed the gloomy scene.

  ‘OK,’ he said, clapping his hands briskly, ‘I know we are all worried but we have work to do and Blizzard would not want us to sit here moping on his behalf. We have plenty of bodies in the cells and the custody sergeant wants to know what we are doing with them. So, what I suggest…’

  His voice tailed off as there came the faint sound of applause from downstairs. Ramsey looked bemused.

  ‘So, what we need to do…’ he began again.

  His voice tailed off once more as the applause grew louder, swelling and ebbing until it seemed to fill the whole building. And now there were cheers, cheers which grew louder with every passing second.

  ‘What the…?’ said Ramsey, turning to see the figure of John Blizzard standing in the doorway.

  Blizzard, right arm in a sling, face slighter paler than usual, glanced at Ramsey’s position at the front of the room and gave a slight smile.

  ‘You’d jump into my grave as quickly?’ he said.

  Ramsey stood aside, his face a mask of confusion.

  ‘Guv,’ he gasped, ‘we thought you would be away for ages.’

  ‘Daft basket discharged himself,’ said Ellis with a shake of the head as she followed the chief inspector into the room and the excited officers crowded round him.

  ‘Well, what do you expect?’ said Blizzard, sitting down at one of the desks and wincing at the pain from his arm. ‘I’ve always hated quacks and this one reckoned I would be off work for three weeks. Three weeks, I said? Are you mad? I’ve got a job to do.’

  Colley saw a beaming Arthur Ronald walk into the room.

  ‘You knew, sir?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘The lad who works in A&E is an old friend of mine. Rang me up to see if I couldn’t talk some sense into Blizzard. I told him I’d been trying to do that for twenty-five years.’

  ‘Besides,’ said Blizzard, gingerly patting his injured arm, ‘it’s not as bad as it looked at the time. Now then, where are we, Chris?’

  ‘Well,’ said Ramsey, recovering from his surprise and reaching onto a desk for some papers, ‘in the end, we arrested twenty-nine people. The CPS reckon we can get an attempted murder on the lad who attacked you.’

  ‘Not sure about that,’ said Blizzard, turning to look at Ronald with a doubtful expression on his face. ‘I reckon he just panicked.’

  ‘Well they want to throw the book at him,’ said Ramsey, referring once more to the piece of paper. ‘Nine others will be charged with drugs offences, most in relation to smack. Two will be charged with illegal possession of a firearm – looks like I was right about them being used in the Kingston Avenue job, that just about wraps that one up – and the rest will be charged with assorted lesser offences. All apart from one who we released: we had only arrested him to stop him being such an irritating little git.’

  ‘That not an offence then?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘’Fraid not.’

  ‘Jesus,’ sighed the inspector, glancing at Ronald. ‘You take a couple of hours off and the whole criminal justice system collapses. Anything to link any of them to Wendy Talbot’s inquiry?’

  ‘Plenty. We found the lad who was up on the roof with Terry Roberts when he fell. Reckons they had been told that the train, sorry, the locomotive,’ Blizzard nodded his appreciation at the inspector’s correction of himself, ‘had lots of fittings worth half-inching.’

  ‘Told by whom?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘Your mate Rafferty, it would seem.’

  Blizzard nodded gloomily.

  ‘What’s more,’ continued Ramsey, ‘there’s a strong suspicion that Jacobs was one of the lads who killed Billy Guthrie and did for Roly Turner.’

  ‘Where are McGarrity and the others now?’

  ‘In the cells. It’s a good job you’re back, they say they’ll only talk to you.’

  ‘In which case,’ said Blizzard, getting up and holding his arm as the pain shot through it, ‘I’d better do just that.’

  ‘You going to be OK?’ asked Ronald.

  Blizzard nodded. As the chief inspector reached the door, Ramsey took a step forward.

  ‘Guv?’ he said.

  Blizzard turned round.

  ‘Yes?’

  ‘I would just like to say that I, that is we, all of us,’ Ramsey glanced round the room, ‘are really glad to see you back. You had us worried for a moment.’

  Blizzard gave a half-smile but said nothing and walked slowly out into the corridor. Left behind in the squad room, the detectives listened as there came the sound of applause again as the chief i
nspector walked along the corridors and down the stairs to the custody suite.

  ‘OK,’ said Ramsey, turning to face the others, ‘I guess we ought to get on with some work.’

  Movement returned to the room.

  Chapter twenty

  Blizzard sat at the desk in the stuffy little interview room and stared at the gaunt, broken figure of Steve McGarrity. With his arm throbbing, the inspector tried hard to focus on the job in hand, to push emotion to the back of his mind, to forget that Steve McGarrity was a friend. Had been a friend. Sitting next to him, Colley kept glancing at his colleague with concern.

  ‘You OK?’ he whispered.

  ‘Yeah, but let’s get this over with quickly.’

  McGarrity, who had been staring at the floor ever since the officers had arrived, looked up at his old friend.

  ‘I heard you got hurt,’ he said, nodding to the sling. ‘What happened?’

  ‘Kid knifed me.’

  ‘Tough place, The Spur.’

  ‘Which is why I am wondering how an upstanding citizen like you got involved in its ways,’ said Blizzard. ‘I mean, what were you thinking of, Steve?’

  ‘We had nowhere to go,’ he said. ‘We needed help and The Spur could offer it.’

  ‘So, tell me about Matthew Hargreaves.’

  McGarrity looked at him for a moment: the detectives wondered if he was preparing to bluster his way through their questions but he gave a defeated nod of the head.

  ‘How much do you know?’ he asked.

  ‘Enough to be pretty certain that you were partly responsible for his death.

  ‘You get that from the others?’

  ‘Got it from George Haywood. Tommy’s saying nothing but he knows the game’s up.’

  McGarrity considered the comment. For a moment or two, it seemed as if he might break down and cry but the old railman regained his composure and nodded.

  ‘This was not supposed to happen, none of it was supposed to happen,’ he said. ‘He was a good man was Matthew Hargreaves.’

  ‘But not a good union man?’

  ‘No, not a good union man.’ McGarrity looked hard at the detectives. ‘Before you judge me – us – out of hand, you have to understand what those times were like. It’s not as straightforward as you think, John.’