by John Dean
‘OK, I might be persuaded to buy that,’ said Ronald. ‘But why kill the boy? It sounds like too much of a stretch to me.’
‘Maybe not,’ said Blizzard. ‘We’re working on the theory that the kid knew about his cash fiddles. If Phil Calvert is right and Sanders and Marian Holdsworth have been having an affair, it’s perfectly plausible to believe that the kid could have heard something and blackmailed the vicar. Or maybe he threatened to tell Stevie boy. The vicar would know he was dead meat if that happened.’
‘Or just as bad,’ said Colley. ‘Maybe the kid threatened to tell us about the theft of the money. How long do you think a defrocked vicar would last in jail?’
‘Whichever way you cut it, Henry Sanders was a man with a motive to kill,’ said Blizzard. ‘And it’s up to him to persuade us otherwise… assuming we can find him, of course.’
The superintendent considered the ramifications for a few moments. None of them were good.
‘God knows what Margaret Hatton will make of all this,’ said Ronald. ‘Because it sounds like you are suggesting that Albert Macklin has nothing to do with the boy’s death. Even though he was seen down by the canal? I mean, are we really saying that he is innocent?’
‘It’s beginning to look that way, Arthur. And I never thought that I would hear myself saying that of the old scrote.’ Blizzard did not have time to say anything else because his mobile phone rang. He listened for a few moments then ended the call. ‘Marian Holdsworth wishes to see us. Turns out she’s been keeping things from us as well. Who would have thought it?’
Chapter twenty-one
‘I have not been entirely honest with you, Chief Inspector,’ said Marian Holdsworth. She looked at the detectives as they sat once more in her living room, surrounded by her Christian icons. ‘In fact, I am afraid I have been guilty of concealing things from you.’
‘Now, where have I heard those words before?’ said Blizzard. ‘It seems that there is a special Eleventh Commandment for everyone linked to St John’s – thou shalt lie through thine back teeth. I take it that the dark secret you want to confess is your dalliance with the vicar?’
She gazed at him in amazement.
‘How did you know about that?’ she asked.
‘It’s my job to know, Marian.’ Blizzard pointed upwards with his forefinger. ‘Me and the Big Fella, we’re omnipotent. Exactly how close are you and Henry Sanders?’
‘Before I answer that, I need to know if you plan to release Steve? I am terrified of how he will react if he finds out what has been happening between myself and Henry.’
‘We have no option. There is absolutely nothing to link him to the death of Jamie. I don’t know where he was when your son died but I’m sure he was not down by the canal.’
‘I can tell you where he was,’ said Marian. ‘He’s having an affair.’
‘We did wonder.’ The chief inspector leaned forward in his chair. ‘Go on, do tell.’
‘I had suspected something for a while; then six weeks ago, when Steve was due to have his last shore leave, he told me he had to work instead. That weekend, Jamie fell ill with scarlet fever and I rang the rig to tell Steve. The man who answered said that he had gone to see his girlfriend in Barnsley.’
‘Does he know that you know?’ asked Colley.
‘No.’ She gave a weak smile. ‘And as you have now realised, I have a secret of my own. People in glasshouses and all that. And to answer your question, Chief Inspector, myself and Henry Sanders have grown very close. In fact, he asked me to leave Steve and go away with him.’
‘And you said?’ asked Blizzard.
‘I said I would think about it.’ Her eyes assumed a far-off expression. ‘Henry is everything that Steve is not, sensitive, gentle, caring–’
‘And a thief,’ said Blizzard.
‘What do you mean?’ Her surprise appeared to be genuine.
‘He stole money from the church.’
‘I don’t believe that!’
‘Believe it,’ said Blizzard. ‘Glenda Rutherford told us and Edgar Rose-Harvey confirmed it.’
‘That man!’ The words were almost spat out. ‘Henry detested him. He said it was difficult to see the Christian spirit in him.’
‘To be honest, I am struggling to see the Christian spirit in any of you,’ said Blizzard. ‘Did Jamie know about Henry’s offer to whisk you away into the sunset?’
‘Yes.’ Marian’s tears welled up. ‘Yes, he did.’
‘And what did he think of it?’
‘He liked Henry,’ she sobbed. ‘He didn’t hurt him like…’
Her voice tailed off in mid-sentence. The detectives watched, sensing her turmoil. She stared at the ground for a moment, seemingly fascinated by the whirls in the carpet.
‘Is there a chance that you’re wrong and that Jamie actually didn’t approve of your new relationship?’ asked Blizzard. ‘Is it possible that he threatened to tell your husband about the two of them and that Henry kill–’
‘What are you saying?’ exclaimed Marian angrily. ‘Of course, Henry didn’t kill my son.’
‘Yes, you say that but–’
‘You will get nothing more from me,’ she said firmly. ‘I have said enough already. I wanted to talk to you because I guessed you would hear about me and Henry from someone at the church. People can be such gossips and I wanted you to have the facts right.’
‘But we need to ask you about–’
‘No more questions,’ she said. ‘Please leave my house.’
And with that she stood up and walked out into the hallway. Blizzard glanced round at a smiling Virgin Mary perched on the television set.
‘What are you laughing at?’ he said.
After Marian had ushered the detectives out into the street, Blizzard’s mobile phone rang. He stood, leaning against the car, listening grimly, then stared bleakly across at his sergeant when the call had ended.
‘It’s time to go to church again,’ he said.
‘We’re becoming quite religious in our old age,’ said Colley.
‘Well, we are certainly going to need some divine help from somewhere,’ replied Blizzard. ‘That was Sarah. Someone has just killed Glenda Rutherford!’
Chapter twenty-two
Having passed through the cordon of flashing blue lights outside St John’s, the detectives joined Sarah Allatt and two green-suited paramedics in the dimly lit church to gaze silently upon the twisted and crumpled body of Glenda Rutherford. She lay on her front behind a row of chairs – one of the first decisions of the new group on taking over at St John’s had been to remove the pews – and had been struck from behind, possibly while kneeling in prayer, thought the detectives. It was not difficult to see the injury which had killed her, the bloodied gash on her head testament to the force of the blow.
‘Was she alive when you arrived?’ Blizzard asked one of the paramedics.
‘Just. Died a few moments after we got to her. Nothing we could have done.’
‘Did she say anything?’
‘No.’
The detectives watched in grim silence as the paramedics left the church. Blizzard looked at Allatt.
‘Too much to ask that we might have a witness, I suppose?’ he asked.
‘I am afraid not, guv. It looks like she was alone when it happened.’
The inspector said nothing so Colley walked round the church. After a few minutes, he gave an exclamation and reached down to peer at a bloodstained wooden bookstand lying on the floor.
‘Guv,’ he said. ‘Better come and have a look at this.’
Blizzard walked over and looked at the bookstand.
‘Dropped when whoever it was fled the scene,’ said Colley.
‘So, it would appear,’ said Blizzard. ‘The kind of weapon a vicar might well use.’
They rejoined Allatt next to the body. Colley knelt down and looked closer at Glenda Rutherford’s face.
‘There’s no fear,’ he said. ‘Probably did not even know what was happening.
’
‘That makes two of us,’ said Blizzard.
He noticed a young man standing at the door to the church and watching them with a look of shock on his face.
‘Who’s he?’ asked the inspector.
‘The duty manager at the hostel,’ said Allatt. ‘He called it in.’
Blizzard walked briskly towards him. The man’s face was pale, the lips trembling. He was leaning against the door frame, hardly able to support himself.
‘Did you find her?’ asked Blizzard.
The young man nodded.
‘What happened?’ asked Blizzard.
‘I was about to finish for the day.’ The duty manager paused to gather his composure. ‘Glenda always goes to pray before she starts work. I heard her scream and ran in and…’ His voice tailed off.
‘Did you see anyone else?’ asked the inspector.
‘No. No one.’
Blizzard was about to ask another question when a movement caught his attention through one of the side windows. At first, he was not quite sure what he was seeing but the closer he looked he realised that it was the shadow of a person, silhouetted against the street lights and moving stealthily.
‘David!’ yelled Blizzard. He pointed to the window.
The sergeant sprang into action. With a few athletic bounds, knee injury forgotten, he was hurtling through the front door of the church, barging past the startled uniformed officer guarding it. Yelling for the constable to follow him, the sergeant careered round the side of the church to see a shape fleeing into the shadows. Colley, adrenaline driving away the pain in his knee, sprinted across the garden, cursing as he bounced off one of the trees because his eyes were focused on the fleeing man.
At the end of the garden was a high wall beyond which were the backyards of terraced houses. For a second, the man hesitated then spotted the compost bin, flipped himself onto it and scrambled onto the top of the wall, nimbly avoiding the shards of cemented-in glass designed to deter burglars. After the briefest of glances backwards, he jumped down the other side.
The pursuing officers heard a dustbin go flying then there was a thunderous hammering on the back door of the house and a frantic shouting. Colley leapt onto the compost bin and hurled himself on top of the wall, crying out in pain as the glass sliced through his hand. Trying to ignore the agony, he glanced down into the yard and saw the man pounding on the back door before the kitchen light went on and the door swung open.
Confronted by a startled elderly man, the intruder barged into the house, knocking the pensioner over. Colley gritted his teeth against the pain and leapt into the yard, crying out as he landed on his knee. The uniformed officer was beside him in seconds, hitting the ground hard, rolling over twice then helping the sergeant to his feet. Together, they rushed into the house, pausing for a moment to check that the householder was all right. Colley immediately recognised Tom Raine. The old man lay motionless and the uniformed constable stayed behind to tend to him while Colley limped as fast as he could down the hallway. He cursed as he saw that the front door had been flung open and that the killer had fled into the street. With a desperate lunge, the sergeant threw himself out into the road and glanced desperately up and down but saw just parked cars and one or two people coming out of their houses to see what had caused the commotion. There was no sign of his quarry.
‘Damn!’ exclaimed Colley. Forgetting his gashed hand, he thumped the wall and winced as the pain shot up his arm. ‘Damn, damn, damn!’
Within moments, flashing blue lights converged on the street from both ends and uniformed officers poured from vehicles and fanned out to begin searching the area. Blizzard appeared, eyed the scene grimly and approached his sergeant, who was now sitting on a low front wall, trying to catch his breath, wrapping a handkerchief round his hand, having realised that it was bleeding profusely.
‘Are you OK?’ asked Blizzard.
‘Yeah,’ said Colley. His teeth were gritted with the pain.
‘It doesn’t look like it.’
‘I’m OK.’
‘We’ll get the ambulance guys to check you over anyway,’ said Blizzard. ‘Did you get a good look at him?’
‘Only briefly – when the old feller put his kitchen light on and opened his back door. Five ten, five eleven, slim, green anorak, dark trousers. Didn’t see his face. Sorry, guv, but the man he knocked over is Tom Raine.’
Blizzard closed his eyes for a few moments then reopened them.
‘How is he?’ he asked.
‘Not sure. Not good.’
Blizzard’s eyes narrowed.
‘I want this bastard,’ he said grimly. ‘Could it have been the vicar?’
‘He was certainly the right build.’
‘Not sure a vicar could run like that, though,’ said Blizzard.
He sat down next to Colley and placed a reassuring arm on his shoulder while anxiously eyeing the deep gash and the sergeant’s pale face.
‘Don’t be so sure,’ said Colley. He wrapped the crimson handkerchief tighter round the wound. ‘According to one of the parishioners, Henry Sanders was a champion sprinter when he was younger.’
‘Bloody marvellous,’ sighed Blizzard. He turned as a uniformed sergeant approached. ‘Anything, Des?’
‘Not yet. We’ve got people searching the surrounding streets.’
‘What about the old feller?’ asked Blizzard.
‘It’s that bloke you are interested in,’ said the uniformed sergeant. ‘Tom Raine, I think he’s called. You’ve got a couple of our young’uns looking for his wife.’
‘How is he?’
‘They’re taking him to hospital.’ The uniformed sergeant nodded towards an ambulance edging its way along the street, watched by a growing band of onlookers. ‘Nasty bang to his head. You need to get that hand seen to, David.’
Colley nodded, feeling faint as the world started to spin. He allowed himself to be helped to the ambulance. Blizzard sat on the wall for a few moments, deep in thought. As he did so, Danny Rowan and Keith Leighton approached. Blizzard looked at the young constables.
‘We heard the call,’ said Leighton. ‘Thought we could help. We reckon he must have been one of the protestors. Someone has spray-painted the word “perverts” on the wall near where you saw him. The paint’s still wet. Is it true that he’s injured Tom Raine?’
‘I’m afraid so,’ said Blizzard. ‘Any luck with finding Martha?’
Leighton shook his head.
‘We’ve searched just about every patch of wasteland and derelict outhouse in the area,’ he said. ‘Nothing.’
‘It was worth a try. Thanks anyway.’
‘If you don’t mind, we’d like to give it another go tomorrow, sir,’ said Rowan.
‘You got an idea?’ asked Blizzard.
‘Not really, but I guess we just don’t like the idea of giving up. For Tom, you know.’
Blizzard nodded.
‘Thank you,’ he said.
Chapter twenty-three
Panic gripped Blizzard as he realised that he was trapped and that there was no way out. He could vaguely see through the gloom that the room did not have a door and realised, as the walls began to close in, that no one knew he was there and that no one would come to save him. That he would die alone in the darkness and that no one would find his body. As his heart began to pound and panic overwhelmed him, he jolted awake. As ever, it took him a while to realise that he was in bed, that it was one of the reoccurring nightmares that he had suffered since childhood.
Relief flooded his body and he lay there for a few moments, waiting for his heart rate to steady, then sat up and glanced across the sleeping Fee to the digital clock on her bedside table. He gave a sigh; 4.00am. He tried to get back to sleep but found himself continually checking the digital clock, which seemed to move so, so slowly. Eventually, he gave in and let his mind turn to the events of recent days. However, he did not come to any conclusions and it was a relief when he heard Michael wake up in the next room just af
ter six, giving the inspector an excuse to get up.
Now, the inspector sat in the living room and fed his son spoonfuls of yoghurt as the child sat in his high chair and watched television. He opened another pot of yoghurt, glanced at the wall clock and reached for the television remote.
‘Just want to see the local news headlines,’ he said.
Michael gave a sob as his father flicked away from children’s television to reveal Margaret Hatton as she gave a live breakfast news interview from outside the church.
‘So, what do you want to happen?’ asked the reporter.
Hatton glanced round at the group of supporters who were gathered behind her. Blizzard noticed that Bob Lennox and his son were not there.
‘Recent events,’ she said, ‘have illustrated the folly of allowing the hostel to continue to operate. We demand that it be closed immediately. This situation is out of control. How many more people have to die before something is done?’
A murmur of agreement rippled through the protestors. Blizzard scowled; things were bad enough without national television turning the spotlight on events at St John’s. The scowl was banished as Fee entered the room, her short blonde hair wrapped in a towel following her shower. A former detective, she was much younger than Blizzard and had met him when she was transferred to his CID division. She sat down on the sofa and watched the news report with interest; she had left the force to look after their child and Blizzard knew that at times like this she missed the job. He couldn’t help but feel somehow guilty.
Michael gave another sob and reached out a hand towards the television, the pudgy fingers clenching and unclenching.
‘You’re absolutely right, Mikey,’ said Blizzard. He switched back to children’s television. ‘Let’s get rid of the nasty lady, shall we?’
Michael beamed and gave a cry of delight as a brightly-coloured pig bounded across the screen.
‘She still kicking off then?’ asked Fee.
‘Who, Peppa?’
