NO AGE TO DIE: The release of a dangerous prisoner leads to murder (DCI John Blizzard Book 9)

by John Dean

  ‘Yes, but surely driving away older people is not the way to do things?’ said Blizzard.

  ‘They were welcome to stay. It’s just that they decided they didn’t like our way of worshipping.’ Rose-Harvey gave Blizzard a sly look. ‘Anyway, I did not realise that it was the police’s job to judge people’s morality.’

  Blizzard scowled.

  ‘No,’ said Rose-Harvey, and his face assumed a dreamy expression. ‘No, we have done what we had to do. It is our task to carry the Lord’s message into the world and to shine a bright light into dark hearts. Nothing can stand in the way of our mission.’

  ‘Yes, well, just make sure that it does not get in the way of my mission,’ said Blizzard. ‘I warn you, Mr Rose-Harvey, if I discover that you and your people are involved in any of this, there will be hell to–’

  ‘I do not appreciate being threatened, Chief Inspector,’ said Rose-Harvey calmly. ‘And you would do well to remember that I have some powerful friends.’

  ‘If you mean God…’

  ‘Actually, I was thinking of something a touch more secular,’ said Rose-Harvey. ‘City Hall. They may feel that we overstepped the mark in agreeing to take Albert Macklin but they still support the general thrust of what we are doing here. Something for you to bear in mind.’

  Blizzard glowered at him and stalked across the hall without replying to the comment. Rose-Harvey looked at the sergeant.

  ‘I sense a lot of pent-up anger in your chief inspector,’ he said.

  ‘Yeah, he gets like that when people get killed on his patch,’ said Colley. ‘Especially young people.’

  ‘If only we could bring the Lord into his life…’

  ‘He’d only arrest him,’ said Colley. He turned as the forensics officers entered the room. ‘Please make sure that our people are given the time that they need to do their work. You can tell the Lord that his house is ours for the next few hours. Send him a text, or however you communicate with him.’

  And with that, Colley followed Blizzard into the car park where the inspector was leaning on the roof of his vehicle, looking up pensively at the picture glass window.

  ‘They’re off their heads,’ said Colley.

  ‘And I’m not picking up much sense of peace,’ said the inspector. ‘There is something very wrong here, David. I don’t understand it yet but it’s making me feel very uneasy.’

  ‘I’m inclined to agree. I know it’s a church and all that, but there’s an awful lot of hostility. Did you see the effect that Rose-Harvey had on the vicar?’

  ‘I did, yes.’ Blizzard unlocked his car door. ‘Come on… grieving parents await.’

  ‘The day just gets better and better,’ said Colley.

  They were about to get into the vehicle when they were approached by a white-haired elderly man smartly attired in a brown suit and tie.

  ‘Chief Inspector Blizzard?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s me.’

  ‘I wonder if I could have a word?’

  ‘Is it about what happened to Jamie Holdsworth?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘No, it’s about my wife,’ said the old man. ‘She went missing last year.’

  ‘Well, I’m afraid I’m a bit busy so maybe you can pop down to Abbey Road? I am sure they can hel…’

  The pensioner reached into his coat pocket and produced a faded colour photograph of a grey-haired elderly woman sitting at a table with a cup of coffee in front of her.

  ‘That’s her,’ he said. ‘Her name is Martha. I’m Thomas. People call me Tom.’

  Hard as he tried, Blizzard could not recall the details of the case but he had a vague idea that he had read a report about her. The inspector frowned; he had always been acutely aware that every report that landed on his desk related not to a statistic but to a person, to a family, to a deeply personal tragedy, but the pressure of the job sometimes made him forget the fact. He looked at the old man, whose eyes now glistened with tears.

  ‘I’m sorry, Mr Raine,’ he said. His tone was softer. ‘How can I help you?’

  ‘She was last seen at the post office on Low Street. There was a big search for her. Don’t you remember?’

  ‘I’m sorry, we get a lot of missing people in our area,’ said Blizzard.

  ‘It was less than six months ago,’ said the old man. The hurt in his voice was clear.

  Blizzard cursed himself silently. He had instantly regretted the comment. It sounded uncaring. Thoughtless. He thought hard and, after a few moments, was able to recall the incident. Like so many cases of missing people, it had been news for a day or so but had faded into the background when the elderly woman was not found and more pressing matters took precedence.

  ‘Yes, I remember,’ he said. ‘But I’m not sure how I can help, Mr Raine.’

  ‘Call me Tom, please,’ said Raine. ‘And as to how you can help, I want you to find her.’

  ‘I’m not quite sure what more we can do, Tom. I can ask back at the station but–’

  ‘It’s no age to die,’ said Raine.

  Blizzard stared at him.

  ‘What makes you say that?’ he asked.

  The old man gestured towards the police vehicles parked in front of the church.

  ‘When it’s a young person, everyone jumps to it,’ he said. ‘You’ll not give up until you have got to the bottom of what happened to that poor boy, but it’s different when you’re old. It’s like everyone has forgotten that you exist, as if you’ve outgrown your usefulness.’

  He looked disdainfully towards the church.

  ‘And they don’t care,’ he said.

  ‘You attend the church then?’ said Blizzard.

  ‘I used to. Not any more. Not since the new people arrived. They didn’t want us oldies. It didn’t seem to count for much that we saved it from being demolished.’

  Blizzard thought for a few moments.

  ‘I’ll tell you what, Mr Raine,’ he said. ‘I’ve got something I must do just now but how about you come to see me at Abbey Road this afternoon? Say two o’clock? See if we can’t have a cup of tea and a chat about your Martha?’

  ‘I’ll be there,’ said the old man. His face told a story of relief and gratitude. ‘Thank you, Chief Inspector. You don’t know what it means.’

  ‘No problem,’ said Blizzard.

  The detectives got into the car and Colley watched as the elderly man walked down the path towards the street.

  ‘I’m not really sure that we’ve got time for this, have we?’ asked the sergeant.

  ‘Then we’ll make time, David.’ Blizzard looked towards the church. ‘Someone round here needs to start showing some common human decency.’

  Chapter nine

  Blizzard and Colley tried to conceal their amazement as they sat in the Holdsworths’ living room in their terraced house. The room was packed with religious items, crucifixes on the mantelpiece, plastic models of Jesus on the sideboard and on the walls numerous pictures – Jesus giving the sermon on the mount, Jesus at the Last Supper, Jesus on the Cross. Then there was the couple sitting next to each other on the sofa: Marian, small, mousy, dressed in a yellow housecoat and a plain brown skirt; Steve a good ten years younger than his wife, large, muscular, a bodybuilder’s physique, dressed in jeans and a black T-shirt which showed off the well-defined pectorals.

  What was most remarkable to the detectives were the different ways in which husband and wife seemed to have reacted to the death of their child: she hardly able to speak, voice barely audible and trembling, her body seeming to crumple from time to time; he suggesting a lack of concern, the manner confident, confrontational. Blizzard disliked him immediately.

  ‘Have you got the toerag that killed my son?’ asked Holdsworth. ‘I’d string the bastard up.’

  ‘Not yet,’ said Blizzard. ‘Can you tell me why your son might have been down on the canal-side?’

  ‘Shouldn’t have been,’ said Steve as his wife opened her mouth to reply. It had been like this throughout the early exchanges, husb
and cutting across wife, answering for her.

  ‘Nevertheless, he was there.’ Blizzard looked at Marian. ‘Perhaps he used it as a shortcut home?’

  She opened her mouth.

  ‘I kept telling him to steer clear of there,’ said Steve. ‘Too many bloody weirdos.’

  ‘It would help if you let your wife answer some of the questions,’ said the inspector.

  Steve Holdsworth exhibited surprise at the idea that his wife be allowed to voice an opinion but said nothing.

  ‘Mrs Holdsworth?’ prompted Blizzard again. ‘Do you know why Jamie was down by the canal?’

  ‘No,’ she said. The officers had to strain to hear her voice. ‘Jamie was a lovely boy. He never gave us any bother.’

  ‘Did he know a man called Albert Macklin?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘Did that bastard kill my son?’ Steve jumped to his feet, his fist bunched. ‘Because if he did, I’ll tear him limb from–’

  ‘We have no evidence to prove that Albert Macklin was responsible, and might I suggest for all of us that we do not jump to conclusions?’

  ‘Bob says he did it,’ said Holdsworth.

  ‘And when did you talk to Bob Lennox about it?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘At the club. We had a pint.’

  ‘When?’ asked the inspector.

  ‘An hour or so ago.’

  Blizzard glanced at Colley and raised an eyebrow.

  ‘Before coming home?’ asked Colley. He was not sure he could believe what he was hearing.

  ‘Yeah,’ said Holdsworth. ‘Needed someone to talk to.’

  ‘What about your wife?’ exclaimed the sergeant. ‘What about what she was going through? Don’t you think she wanted someone to talk to?’

  ‘She don’t talk to me no more,’ said Holdsworth. He gestured at the ornaments and the paintings. ‘Talks to Jesus bloody Christ instead.’

  ‘My faith sustains me,’ said Marian. She sat up straight for the first time in the interview, her voice infused with strength, filled with purpose. ‘If He has taken Jamie, it is for a purpose.’

  Holdsworth snorted his derision.

  ‘I think you attend St John’s?’ said Blizzard.

  ‘Yes, I do.’ The smile lit up her face. ‘They are wonderful people. They talk with the voice of God. Jamie loved going there…’

  ‘Rubbish!’ said her husband. ‘He liked the Scouts, that was all. He didn’t have time for all that happy-clappy shite.’

  ‘He did!’ exclaimed his wife. She turned baleful eyes on him. ‘It is just that you never saw it. You never saw anything!’

  For an uncomfortable moment there was silence as husband and wife glared at each other, then Marian’s strength seemed to leave her and she slumped back in the sofa, the tears flowing again.

  ‘Is there any reason why your son might have had a baseball bat with him when he was down at the canal?’ asked Blizzard, looking at Steve.

  ‘Baseball! T’aint a proper game. Jamie liked football! I used to take him to see City when I were home.’

  Steve stared at them proudly, almost as if he expected to be congratulated.

  Blizzard hesitated, trying to work out how best to phrase his next question.

  ‘The pathologist conducting the post-mortem on your son’s body found a number of injuries,’ he said eventually. ‘He thinks that they stretch back several years – fractures, scarring. How did your son get them?’

  Marian sobs became louder.

  ‘Dunno nowt about that,’ said Holdsworth. His response was more guarded now. ‘Nowt to do with me.’

  ‘Mrs Holdsworth?’ asked Blizzard. ‘Do you know?’

  For a moment, it seemed as if she was about to say something but, after a glance at her husband’s fierce expression, she shook her head.

  ‘He were a boy,’ said Steve. ‘Boys get bumps and scratches.’

  ‘These were hardly bumps and scratches,’ said Colley. ‘I talked to one of the uniform lads who remembered being called to the hospital three years ago when Jamie was there with a broken arm. He would not tell the doctors how he got it.’

  ‘He fell playing football,’ said Steve. ‘That’s how he got all his injuries.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ said Blizzard.

  ‘If you’re trying to suggest that we–’ began Steve angrily.

  ‘I’m not suggesting anything, Mr Holdsworth, but we do need to find out. Is there anything we should know?’

  Mrs Holdsworth stifled another sob and her husband looked away. Neither replied. As the silence lengthened, it was clear to the detectives that neither would. After a few further moments of silence, Blizzard stood up.

  ‘We’ll leave it there, I think,’ he said. ‘Thank you for your help. We’ll leave you to your grief for now.’

  ‘If there is anything that we can do…’ began Colley.

  Marian shot the sergeant a look, half gratitude, half pleading. A strange look and one that was to trouble the sergeant for the remainder of the day. It looked for a few moments as though she was about to speak.

  ‘We’ll sort it ourselves, thank you,’ said Steve. He stood up and gestured the detectives to walk out into the hallway, where he closed the door so that his wife could not hear.

  ‘I know you must think that I don’t care about Jamie,’ he said. ‘But you’ve seen what she’s like. She’s not been the same since she started going to St John’s. All that God rubbish. One of us has to stay strong – and we don’t know anything about any abuse. We’d never do anything like that to our son.’

  ‘Fair enough,’ said Blizzard. He opened the front door and stepped out into the street, where he turned to give Holdsworth a stern look. ‘We’ll do everything in our power to catch whoever did this, Steve, but I don’t want to hear that you and Bob have gone looking for Macklin.’

  Holdsworth did not reply and closed the door behind them. Blizzard and Colley headed for the car.

  ‘What a bastard!’ exclaimed Colley once they had got into the vehicle. ‘What an absolute bastard! All that guff about having to stay strong. If it were my kid, I wouldn’t react the way he did. And neither would you.’

  ‘You’re right.’ Blizzard turned the key in the ignition and steered the vehicle out of the side street and onto the main road. ‘Run me through what criminal records said about him again, will you?’

  Colley removed a computer printout from his jacket pocket.

  ‘All that stuff about taking his son to the football?’ he said. ‘Well, I’ll put money on the fact it wasn’t to watch the game. Holdsworth has got five convictions for football violence. Attacked a bobby during trouble outside one City match, put him in hospital for three days. I talked to the lad who made the arrest. Jamie was with him when it happened. He was nine at the time. Holdsworth was lucky to get a suspended sentence. And it’s interesting that he went to see Lennox before going home. They have form together.’

  ‘Violence?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Colley ran his eye down the document. ‘They were arrested together after a late-night brawl at a city centre pub five years ago. Both got suspended sentences for that one, as well. Sometimes, I wonder why we bother.’

  ‘So do I.’ Blizzard slowed the car down to let a bus emerge from a side street. The driver ignored the gesture. ‘No, don’t thank me. Git! What do you make of the wife?’

  ‘Like Steve said, she only speaks to Jesus. Talk about the Odd Couple. All that religious stuff was certainly weird. So, what’s our next move then?’

  ‘I want us to find out everything we can about Steve Holdsworth,’ said Blizzard. ‘Including his movements over the past twenty-four hours.’

  ‘But surely he was travelling back from the oil rig?’

  ‘Let’s check anyway.’

  ‘And I guess we lift Bob Lennox?’

  ‘Yeah.’ Blizzard gave a rare grin. ‘We deserve a treat, the morning we’ve had.’

  Chapter ten

  The detectives found Bob Lennox shortly after noon, drinking in a seedy club situ
ated on one of the streets which had fallen on hard times as the docks fell victim to many years of recession. The city’s economy may have been recovering but Dock Street had been untouched by the investment transforming the nearby marina, with its glitzy nightspots and yachts. Instead, the club’s neighbours were warehouses that had long since closed down; all smashed windows, rotting wooden doors and signs bearing the faded letters of fruit importers.

  Blizzard, who had long been a keen student of the city’s social history, hesitated outside the club and shook his head sadly.

  ‘Tragic,’ he said. ‘It really is.’

  ‘What is?’ said Colley.

  ‘All this.’ Blizzard wafted a hand. ‘This area used to be the heartbeat of this city. All colour and noise.’

  ‘Right.’

  Blizzard sighed as he recognised the customary lack of interest in the sergeant’s voice whenever his boss talked history.

  ‘No soul, David,’ he said. ‘That’s your problem.’

  However, Blizzard sensed that there was more to it than that on this occasion – that the sergeant was preoccupied by something else. Colley confirmed it with his next words, uttered as he looked at the shabby door on which faded lettering spelling out the word ‘Lounge’ could just be made out.

  ‘My only problem,’ he said, ‘is what’s on the other side of that. This place is notorious.’

  Blizzard noted the sergeant’s unease, something out of character in a man who was normally at the front in difficult situations. The inspector tried to put on a brave face.

  ‘We’ll be fine,’ said Blizzard. ‘They’re pussycats, really.’

  ‘I hope you’re right,’ said the sergeant. ‘I may not have the world’s most attractive face but I’ve grown quite attached to it down the years.’

  Blizzard gave a low laugh and pushed his way into the lounge. It took a couple of moments for the officers’ eyes to grow accustomed to the gloom, created partly because the walls were covered with dark wallpaper and partly because of the fug of cigarette smoke hanging thick in the air – the regulars had long since deemed that the smoking ban did not apply to them. Adding to the oppressive atmosphere was a carpet that was stained brown with decades of filth and trodden-in fag-ash.