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

by John Dean

‘To see Macklin,’ said Lennox. ‘Margaret said that she thought the church might be hiding him. He wasn’t there but Jacob told me that I should try to forgive him for what he did. I lost it, Mr Blizzard, listening to him talking like that. I didn’t mean to hurt him so badly, honest.’

  ‘And Glenda?’

  ‘Margaret said that she might have seen me. Said if I was arrested, the church would have got away with what happened with Macklin. I couldn’t let that happen.’ Lennox shook his head. ‘Not after what happened to my Danny. It wouldn’t have been right.’

  To the detectives’ surprise, Bob Lennox began to cry. Blizzard waited for him to recover his composure then sat back with a satisfied look on his face.

  ‘OK, Bob,’ he said, ‘let’s have it all from the start. Every detail and I don’t want any heroics. No trying to protect anyone. I want everything there is to know.’

  ‘Don’t worry,’ said Lennox. He leant forward, a fire in his eyes. ‘If I go down, I ain’t going alone. You can be sure of that!’

  Chapter thirty-one

  Sarah Allatt had just sat down at her desk at Abbey Road with her mug of tea and a sandwich, when the phone rang. The voice on the other end suggested that the caller was an elderly woman. She sounded nervous.

  ‘Is that the CID office?’ she asked.

  ‘It is, yes, I am Detective Constable Allatt. How can I help you?’

  ‘I do hope that I am not troubling you,’ said the woman. ‘I’ve never done anything like this before.’

  ‘Don’t worry about it. You are?’

  ‘I’d rather not give you my name,’ said the woman. ‘But I attend a church in Oxford and something has been nagging away at me for a couple of days. It’s probably nothing.’

  ‘Tell me anyway.’

  ‘Well, I saw a picture of a young man on a website the other day. It said that he has something to do with a church in your area. St John’s, I think it’s called. There’s been a bit of trouble there.’

  ‘You could say that,’ said Allatt. She sat forward in her chair and tried not to sound too eager. ‘Which man are we talking about?’

  ‘Well, like I say, it’s probably nothing but it said that he was called Edgar Rose-Harvey. It’s just that he called himself something different when he attended our church. He went by the name of Edward Lester.’

  ‘Did he now?’ Allatt jotted the name down on a scrap of paper. ‘And when was this?’

  ‘About eighteen months ago. He left in rather a hurry. I do not wish to come over as a gossip, DC Allatt, but some people said that he was not to be trusted. I mean, he was very charming but I did hear that he tried to persuade a couple of the older ones to give him their bank details.’

  ‘And did they?’ asked the constable.

  ‘I don’t think so. People started talking and he disappeared.’

  ‘Did anyone report it to the police?’ asked Allatt.

  ‘I don’t think so. He left the area so there was no need.’

  ‘And it’s definitely the same man you saw on the website?’ asked Allatt.

  ‘I think so. He’s changed his appearance. His hair was darker when I knew him and he had a moustache and a beard but I’m sure it’s him. Anyway, it’s probably not important. I just thought I’d tell you.’

  ‘And I thank you for doing so,’ said Allatt. ‘Are you sure you won’t tell me your…?’

  The line went dead and Allatt stared at the name on the piece of paper for a few moments, trying not to get too excited. As the newest member of Blizzard’s CID team, she was desperate to make an impression and something told her that the phone call was important. She reached for her keyboard and typed in the name Edward Lester. Nothing came up, so she typed in the words Edgar Rose-Harvey. Again, nothing came up and she sighed in disappointment just as Chris Ramsey walked past her desk.

  ‘What’s the problem?’ asked the detective inspector.

  ‘I thought I had an interesting lead. I’ve just had a call from an old dear in Oxford who says that she knows Edgar Rose-Harvey by another name and that he’s a bit dodgy.’

  ‘He got a record?’

  ‘No, that’s the problem. I’ve just keyed in the name she gave me – Edward Lester – but nothing came up. Same with Edgar Rose-Harvey.’

  ‘Yeah, we checked him out when this thing first blew up,’ said Ramsey. ‘Why don’t you try Edward Lester on soft intelligence? It’s a long shot but you never know. Someone may have put something in.’

  Allatt called up another database and Ramsey looked over her shoulder as she keyed in the name and the information scrolled onto the screen.

  ‘Oh my,’ said the detective inspector. ‘Oh my, oh my.’

  * * *

  David Colley had just bought a bacon sandwich and a cup of tea and sat down at one of the tables in the canteen to enjoy his delayed lunch when the front office rang to say that Phil Calvert had called to see him. After muttering ‘no rest for the wicked’, he limped to the reception area, wolfing down his food on the way. The sergeant was intrigued as to what would bring the businessman in on a Sunday and, on entering the front office, he was struck by Calvert’s worried expression. Colley ushered him into an interview room and gestured for him to sit down.

  ‘What’s up?’ he asked as Calvert slumped heavily into a chair.

  ‘I’ve just heard about the old fellow who was knocked over by the bloke you were chasing.’

  ‘Tom Raine?’

  ‘That’s him. Someone said that he’s in hospital. Is he going to die?’

  ‘It was touch and go, last I heard,’ said Colley. He sat down at the desk. ‘Why so interested?’

  He watched in surprise as Calvert buried his face into his hands.

  ‘It wasn’t supposed to be like this,’ he said in a low voice. ‘I wouldn’t have got involved if I thought that anyone would be hurt. He promised that no one would be harmed.’

  ‘He?’ said Colley. ‘I assume that we are talking about Bob Lennox?’

  Calvert shook his head.

  ‘You don’t know the half of it,’ he said.

  * * *

  An hour later, as Colley was concluding his conversation with Phil Calvert, Blizzard was in Arthur Ronald’s office. There was a knock on the door and Sarah Allatt and Chris Ramsey entered the room. The constable was carrying a piece of paper and both of them looked excited.

  ‘Sorry to interrupt,’ said Ramsey, ‘but there’s been a development that you need to know about.’

  ‘Sounds intriguing,’ said Blizzard.

  ‘Oh, it’s more than that. Tell them, Sarah.’

  ‘We received a call just before lunch from a woman who attends a church in Oxford,’ said the constable. ‘She saw a picture of Edgar Rose-Harvey on a website and wanted to tell us that she knows him by a different name.’

  ‘Interesting,’ said Blizzard.

  ‘That’s putting it mildly, guv. See, when we checked the name Edward Lester out, it turns out to be an alias. One of many, in fact.’

  ‘Alias for whom?’

  Allatt handed him the piece of paper. Blizzard scanned it, gave a low whistle and passed it to Ronald, whose eyes widened as he read it.

  ‘So, what else do we know about this Matthew St Clair character?’ asked the superintendent. ‘Assuming that’s his real name.’

  ‘We think it is,’ said Ramsey. ‘Well, we did some digging and it appears that he is more used to moving in society’s higher circles than we plebs.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘He seems to have been born the son of a peer of the realm in Essex. Grew up in a large country stately home. Typical posh kid story in many ways. Went off the rails at public school, cannabis mainly, then moved to London to study economics at university. Got himself hooked on drink and drugs and was thrown off his degree course. Eventually he went to prison, six months for a string of minor deceptions relating to fake bank accounts.’

  ‘And when he came out?’ asked Blizzard. ‘What happened to Matthew St Clair then?’


  ‘Technically, nothing,’ said Allatt. ‘See, Matthew St Clair might have gone into prison but he did not come out. He emerged as Gregory Ransome instead.’

  ‘Another of his aliases?’

  ‘Yes, but he did not use it for long,’ said Allatt. ‘He keeps changing his name. We’ve traced thirteen of them so far. Edgar Rose-Harvey was just the latest. He seems to specialise in attaching himself to churches, taking advantage of the parishioners’ trusting nature, presumably. He particularly likes to con old folk out of their money. Very successfully, it would seem.’

  ‘How come he hasn’t been arrested again?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘By being careful,’ said Ramsey. ‘Changing his appearance and keeping on the move. And you’ll notice that throughout the events at St John’s, he has shied away from the media. He’s not given any interviews, always leaves it to others. But he got unlucky this time. We’re guessing that the picture the old dear saw on the evangelical Christian website was used without his knowledge. He’s certainly not quoted in the article.’

  ‘Good work,’ said Blizzard with a nod of approval. ‘Very good work indeed.’

  ‘Yes, but what does it mean?’ asked Ronald. ‘Are we saying that he’s involved in some sort of a scam here?’

  ‘That, we don’t know,’ said Ramsey.

  ‘Ah, but I do,’ said Colley, entering the room. ‘It’s a scam alright.’

  Once the sergeant had told his story, Ronald looked round the room.

  ‘So, what do we want to do?’ he asked.

  ‘Lift St Clair,’ said Blizzard. ‘Even if he was not directly involved in the attacks on Glenda Rutherford and Jacob Reed, it would appear that he was the one who knocked over poor old Tom Raine. That’s enough to hold him on, for starters, until we can unravel the rest.’

  ‘You might want to hold off on that,’ said Colley. ‘See, according to Phil Calvert, St Clair has got something planned at the church for tonight. His most spectacular act yet. He and Calvert are going to hang a banner across the front of the church.’

  ‘And you think we should let them go ahead, do you?’ said Blizzard. ‘Why on earth would we do that?’

  ‘Because these kinds of cases are a bugger to prove and catching him in the act would be invaluable.’

  ‘He’s right,’ said Ronald. ‘But what about Calvert? Surely, you’re not suggesting that we let him go, David?’

  ‘It’ll raise suspicions if he doesn’t turn up tonight.’

  ‘But can we trust him?’ asked Ronald. ‘Won’t he just tell Rose-Harvey, or whatever he’s called, that we know what’s been going on?’

  ‘I don’t think so,’ said the sergeant. ‘Calvert is desperate to get himself out of this mess. He’s sick of all the lies and knows that playing ball with us is his only chance.’

  ‘And what about Margaret Hatton?’ asked the superintendent.

  ‘Well, she’s clearly in this up to her neck,’ said Blizzard.

  ‘So, we arrest her then?’

  ‘Yeah, but not until tomorrow. The last thing we want is to alert St Clair that we’re onto him.’ Blizzard looked at the sergeant. ‘David, can you set up a surveillance on the hotel where she’s staying? I don’t want her slipping through our fingers.’

  ‘Yeah, will do.’

  Ronald thought for a moment.

  ‘We had better be right,’ he said. He let his gaze roam round the room. ‘There’s a lot of sympathy for the woman and the fallout if we cock it up would be unimaginable. She’s got a national reputation and it backfired when Thames Valley tried to move against her, remember.’

  ‘Yes, but they didn’t have a murder on their hands, did they?’ said Blizzard. ‘No, Arthur, the game’s up for Margaret Hatton.’

  Ronald looked at the others. They all nodded their agreement.

  ‘So be it,’ he said.

  Chapter thirty-two

  ‘Another late night with you,’ sighed Blizzard as he and Colley sat in the car. ‘I spend more time with you than I do with Fee.’

  ‘You love it really,’ said the sergeant.

  It was just before midnight on the cloudy, overcast Sunday night, and they were sitting in an unmarked police vehicle which had been parked in the shadows near St John’s Church. At the other end of the street was another vehicle containing Chris Ramsay and Sarah Allatt and, stationed in surrounding streets were other vehicles – all unmarked, all crewed by officers in plain clothes. The cars had all been parked in the darkest corners of the streets and, in two cases, street lights had been disabled earlier in the day by officers posing as council workmen. To further increase the chances of success, Blizzard had stressed that not a uniform must be seen in the area that night, that routine inquiries had to be suspended and mobile units kept away.

  Now, the detectives waited. The church was in darkness and gradually lights in the adjoining hostel also went out one by one, the only remaining illumination coming from the office where the night duty manager was stationed.

  ‘You heard anything from your mate?’ asked Blizzard.

  ‘Chaz?’ said Colley. ‘No, nothing yet but if anyone at the hostel knows where Albie Macklin is, he’ll find out. You still fancy Macklin for killing Jamie Holdsworth?’

  Blizzard thought for a few moments.

  ‘Do you know,’ he said. ‘I’m not sure about anything anymore, David. All the supposed good guys have turned out to be the villains of the piece so who knows? Maybe Albie Macklin is innocent, after all. Maybe he did bugger off to Derby.’

  Silence settled on the car again as the officers watched the final lights being switched off in the terraced houses surrounding the church. By midnight, the detectives had the streets to themselves, having watched as the last of the drunks had reeled past their vehicles, wending their weary way home.

  ‘Maybe Phil Calvert sold us out, after all,’ said Blizzard. ‘Maybe they’ve called it off.’

  ‘No, I think we’re OK,’ said the sergeant. ‘According to the surveillance lads, Margaret Hatton is still at the hotel. Has been since St Clair visited her this afternoon. If she thought that we’d rumbled them, she’d have had it away on her toes that fast, wouldn’t she?’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Blizzard. ‘But the team we put on St Clair hasn’t seen him since they lost him after he left the hotel, have they? Maybe it is a blowout.’

  Colley did not reply; the thought that he was kidding himself had been increasingly nagging away at him for the best part of an hour. However, just before one o’clock, with Blizzard wondering whether or not to call off the operation as the officers shared the streets with only the occasional skulking cat, Colley spotted a movement in the darkest corner of the garden, beyond the church.

  ‘There,’ he said quietly.

  The detectives sank deeper into their seats and peered into the night as best they could from their low vantage point. There was definitely someone picking their way between the apple trees. Two people, both dressed in dark clothes and with their faces partially obscured by balaclavas. One of them appeared to have a haversack on his back. They spent several seconds looking hard at the detectives’ car but eventually concluded that it was empty, unable to make out the detectives in the darkness.

  The new arrivals walked tentatively across the garden, towards the church, constantly looking around to make sure that no one was watching them. As they edged their way along the side of the church and slipped round to the front, standing beneath the picture window, they were briefly illuminated by one of the street lights.

  ‘I’m pretty sure that Calvert’s the one without the bag,’ said Colley.

  The men gave the street a final scan then each grabbed a drainpipe on either side of the glass window. The watching detectives could see some loose brickwork come away in the hands of one of the men. Blizzard reached for his radio.

  ‘Nobody moves,’ he said quietly. ‘On my command only.’

  The detectives watched as the men swiftly climbed the drainpipes. Having reached the to
p, they swung themselves over the guttering and onto the roof. The man with the haversack then lowered the bag and together they bundled out a bulky object. As they unfurled it, it soon revealed itself as the banner but the detectives could not make out the words from such distance and in such darkness. Standing on the roof edge, the man held a hurried conversation then stretched out the banner. Quickly, they started to tie the ends to the drainpipes and lowered the material over the top half of the window, obscuring Jesus Christ’s face.

  ‘All units go!’ exclaimed Blizzard into his radio. ‘All units go!’

  He and the sergeant leapt from their cars and ran towards the church. Ramsay and Allatt did likewise from the other end, able to make out the words on the banner as they approached. No More Perverts. The men on the roof heard them coming and glanced down. One of them seemed rooted to the spot but the one with the bag swung himself recklessly over the edge and started to shin down the drainpipe, hands grasping frantically for secure holds.

  ‘Stop, police!’ shouted Blizzard.

  The man ignored the command and kept climbing. Halfway down, though, he caught his foot between pipe and wall, and with a yell, twisted outwards. Making a desperate grab for the drainpipe, he screamed as it came away in his hands. Desperately, he hurled himself towards the wall but missed and with a shattering of glass and a terrified screech, he plunged through the window, into the darkness of the church. They heard a dull thud from inside – then silence.

  Leaving Ramsay and Allatt to coax down a horrified Phil Calvert, Blizzard and Colley rushed round to the front of the church. Colley kicked in the door savagely and, snapping on lights as they went, the detectives raced over to the window, coming to a halt and staring down at the sight which met their gaze. There, sprawled obscenely across the floor, his limbs twisted beneath him, was the man, a huge shard of glass jutting out of his chest. Blizzard reached down and pulled aside the balaclava.

  ‘Is it him?’ asked Colley, ashen-faced.

  ‘It is.’ Blizzard looked into the lifeless face of Edgar Rose-Harvey. ‘Meet Matthew St Clair.’

  ‘I take it he’s dead?’