THE DCI BLIZZARD MURDER MYSTERIES: Books 1 to 3

by John Dean

  ‘It could also explain why Eddie Gayle has been keeping a low profile in recent days,’ said Detective Sergeant Dave Tulley, a stocky man with fleshy cheeks and a shock of tousled black hair. ‘Given that Horton works for him, it could mean that Eddie Gayle is behind all this.’

  ‘It could indeed,’ said Blizzard with a gleam in his eye. ‘The last thing any of them wanted was being hauled in again just as a delivery was due. That’s presumably why they went to ground.’

  ‘And there is a decent link with Henderson Ramage,’ said Graham Ross. ‘We are pretty sure that some of the illegals being brought in were being kept at Hut 23 before being shipped out somewhere else. Since Ramage owns Green Meadow Farm, that puts him in the frame as well – and if Ramage is in the frame then so is Eddie Gayle.’

  ‘Maybe,’ said Ronald doubtfully. ‘But it’s a big step up for Eddie, surely? We have had no indication that he is into people smuggling before, have we? I mean, what if Horton and Ramage are working for someone else on this one?’

  ‘Na,’ said Tulley. ‘Horton is Gayle’s man through and through, sir. He hasn’t got the brains to find anyone else.’

  ‘OK, so where is Horton?’ asked Ronald.

  ‘Nobody is sure,’ said Tulley. He gestured to Ellis. ‘We have been checking all his usual haunts but no one has seen him since he got out of the clink. Eddie Gayle seems to have disappeared off the face of the earth as well. And, frankly, there is a lot of ground to cover with just the two of us, particularly, since I reckon the constable here should really take some time off.’

  ‘Why?’ asked Blizzard, trying not to sound concerned.

  ‘The rattling of her head is really irritating when you are trying to do the crossword,’ said Tulley.

  Gentle laughter and an embarrassed smile from Ellis.

  ‘I appreciate the concern,’ she said. ‘I’m OK. Really I am.’

  ‘OK,’ said Blizzard, then turned to DI Ramsey. ‘Chris, this inquiry is getting more complicated all the time, how many more officers can you let me have?’

  Ramsey pondered. Aged in his early thirties, he was slim and tall with short-cropped brown hair, an angular face, a prominent nose and a thin mouth not particularly given to laughing. He was dressed as immaculately as ever, in a grey suit with a perfectly matching powder blue tie, and black shoes. A conscientious, thorough and precise, if unspectacular, detective, he was the one who drew up the rosters and allocated the manpower. It was a role that suited his methodical mind and one that sometimes brought the pragmatic DI into conflict with Blizzard.

  ‘Not that many, guv,’ said Ramsey.

  ‘Come on, Chris,’ said Blizzard. ‘Not this again.’

  ‘You know the score, guv,’ replied Ramsey defensively. ‘We’ve got those ram-raids over on the Larchgrove and those indecent assaults at Hadrian Walk. And an attempted murder over in Raglan Street, the guy who was attacked with the baseball bat. That needs sorting pretty damn quick before his mates escalate things. They’re angling for revenge and that area is sensitive enough without something like this getting out of hand. You told me that.’

  ‘Yes, I know but…’

  ‘And we had nine burglaries overnight,’ said Ramsey, cutting across the exasperated chief inspector as he got into his stride, ‘and you know as well as I do that last month the chief constable publicly pledged that all break-ins would be investigated inside 24 hours. It’s difficult enough doing that without losing more officers.’

  ‘Yes, I know but…’ began Blizzard again.

  ‘You can have three,’ said Ramsey. ‘And, frankly, that’s stretching it.’

  ‘That all?’ asked Blizzard, pursing his lips.

  ‘I can’t shit them out of my arse,’ snapped Ramsey.

  Everyone in the room looked at him with surprise; it took a lot to make Chris Ramsey swear.

  ‘OK, OK, point taken,’ said Blizzard. ‘Let me have them anyway. Arthur, any chance uniform would lend us a couple of bodies?’

  ‘I can ask, but they’re really stretched at the moment. I can have a word with Barry Glenhorn over in East Division, maybe he can let us have a couple of his detectives instead.’

  ‘But will they be sober?’ said a sly voice which sounded remarkably like Colley’s although when everyone looked at him, his face bore an innocent expression.

  ‘I think,’ said Ronald tartly as the chuckles rippled round the room, ‘that a little more respect for your colleagues would be in order.’

  Then, relenting as he realised that the official line sounded ridiculous in front of the officers, he added. ‘Pissed or not.’

  ‘Well, whoever we get,’ said Blizzard, ‘I want us to spend the next couple of days tapping up every informant we know and let’s bring in some of the bad lads. I want to turn the heat up on Gayle and Horton. They’ve got to be somewhere.’

  Hey up, thought Colley, the chief inspector’s favourite tree line could not be far away.

  ‘Let’s shake some trees and see if they fall out,’ said Blizzard, not noticing the small smile on Colley’s face, and turning to Tulley. ‘You’re in charge of organising that. Oh, and can you get onto Hamburg police, see if they know anything about Knoefler.’

  ‘OK, guv, but what am I looking for?’

  ‘Sounds like he might have been a black market racketeer in the dim and distant. Could be something or nothing but worth a look all the same.’

  ‘Right-to, guv. Er, will they speak English?’

  ‘You don’t, so it won’t be a problem,’ said Blizzard, getting a laugh for the comment and turning to the forensics chief. ‘Graham, anything else?’

  ‘Yeah, like I said, I am pretty sure that Hut 23 is where the illegals are kept when they come in. A couple of the ones lifted last night had the same fags we found in the hut and we found some of the same beer stacked behind the lorry driver’s seat.’

  ‘How is the driver?’ asked Ronald.

  ‘He’ll live,’ said Hope. ‘Turns out it was not the bullet that knocked him out but hitting his head on the steering wheel.’

  ‘I know how we feels,’ murmured Ellis.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be at home, Constable?’ asked Ronald, looking at her with concern. ‘You did take a hell of a whack.’

  ‘No, I’m fine,’ said Ellis and, noticing his doubtful look, added, ‘honest, guv. I just wish people would stop asking about my health!’

  ‘Well, if you’re sure,’ said Ronald.

  ‘I am,’ she said.

  ‘So, have we got anything on the driver?’ asked Blizzard, turning back to Hope.

  ‘He’s called Karl Robinson.’

  ‘I know him,’ said Tulley. ‘Daft lad, do anything for money. And I did hear that he was working for Eddie Gayle at one point. Running errands, that kind of thing.’

  ‘And we all know Eddie’s errands,’ said Blizzard grimly.

  ‘It does strengthen the theory that the people-trafficking is organised out of Hafton and that Eddie Gayle is pulling the strings,’ commented Ronald, glancing at the chief inspector.

  ‘It does indeed. Tulley, do you think one of your lot can fit in an interview with Robinson as well?’ Blizzard asked his sergeant, then glanced at Hope. ‘Assuming customs are OK with that?’

  ‘Yeah,’ said Hope, flapping a hand in agreement. ‘I can always go and search some old dear’s bag for illegal shampoo or something.’

  ‘Good,’ said Blizzard, turning to the DI. ‘Chris, are you and the robbery team still OK working with the customs boys on last night’s op?’

  ‘No problem,’ said Ramsey.

  ‘Thank you,’ said Blizzard, conscious of the need for diplomacy after their spat. ‘You’re doing some good work there. See if you can link the bunch that came in last night with the gangs doing our street robberies.’

  ‘Right-o, guv.’

  ‘OK,’ said Blizzard, ‘I think that’s about it for now. Get out there and make something happen. Oh, David…’

  He glanced at Colley as the other officers
stood up and started to make their way out of the room.

  ‘Guv?’ said the sergeant, flipping his legs off the desk and walking over to the front of the room.

  ‘What about Moira Savage’s story?’

  ‘Seems to check out. Other people in the village confirmed bits of it. Some saw the truck, others heard about the bogus complaint against her husband and Moira told a couple of them about the phone calls.’

  ‘And hubby was not on the rob?’

  ‘Not that we know of, but I’m waiting for some calls back on him.’

  ‘And no link between Henderson Ramage and Brian Savage?’

  ‘We’re still checking that as well. One or two interesting leads but nothing definite yet.’

  ‘Well, whoever’s behind the threats, Moira has hacked them off big time,’ said Blizzard, heading out of the squad room.

  ‘Ramage has got to be the most likely candidate, guv,’ said Colley, following him into the corridor. ‘Most people I talked to in the village seemed pretty supportive of Moira. Even those who disagreed with her don’t look particularly dodgy.’

  ‘Nevertheless,’ said Blizzard, ‘it does give us an excuse to bring Henderson Ramage in again, does it not? Somehow, I think he has been giving a whole new meaning to farm diversification.’

  Chapter thirteen

  ‘Did your family lose anyone in the war, John?’ asked Jay Priest, looking at Blizzard.

  ‘All these detectives,’ said the chief inspector, nodding at Colley and Fee Ellis with a gentle smile on his face, ‘and it takes a teacher to ask the right question.’

  ‘It’s dealing with guilty-looking children every day that does it,’ said Jay.

  ‘I take it you are referring to Colley,’ replied Blizzard.

  ‘Something like that.’

  It was shortly before eleven on Saturday evening and they were sitting in the terraced house which Colley had shared for the best part of ten years with his girlfriend, a willowy redhead in her early thirties who taught at one of the city’s primary schools. Over previous years, the regular gathering had been a threesome, the couple playing host to the chief inspector every other month, he doing the same on a somewhat more occasional basis. But since the arrival on the scene of Fee Ellis, it had become a foursome and, after the inevitable initial awkwardness the first night they tried it, the arrangement had worked out well, to the relief of all concerned. Jay and Fee quickly became friends – united in their exasperation at their menfolk – and Blizzard and Colley had always had an easy relationship.

  That evening, after eating their meal of pasta – Blizzard loved Italian food – they were sitting in the living room with its pastel shades and rustic prints, the soft light afforded by a couple of table lamps and the flickering fake coal fire. Mellow jazz music was playing quietly in the background and Blizzard was lounging in an armchair, glass of wine in hand, Colley was in another chair with a pint of bitter, and Jay and Fee were sitting on the sofa, sipping port and nibbling at chocolates. For Blizzard, although shoptalk was banned at these nights, the gathering had always played an important part in not just his life but also the investigative process, allowing him an escape from the pressures and frustrations of major inquiries.

  And this one had more than its fair share of those. There were still far more questions than answers. Despite the arrival of extra officers to the team, the detectives had not been able to track down Eddie Gayle, Garry Horton or Henderson Ramage, informants suggesting that the men had all vanished in the hours after the ferry terminal operation, possibly leaving the city. Attempts to speed up the process in further interviews with the men apprehended at the ferry terminal had proved fruitless. Not even the eager interpreter had been able to persuade them to speak. As for the old man captured at the same time, he had proved even more intransigent, not scared or intimidated and refusing even to give his name; attempts to identify him had so far come to nothing. As a result, the group had been taken to a Home Office holding centre an hour’s drive from Hafton to await deportation, taking their secrets with them.

  So it was a downcast John Blizzard that headed for Colley’s house that Saturday night. However, three hours and several drinks later he was in a much more relaxed and mellow mood and found himself, to his surprise, ready to talk.

  ‘So, did you lose someone?’ asked Jay, repeating the question.

  ‘Yes,’ Blizzard said softly, nodding at her, ‘yes, we did.’

  Now, all eyes were turned on him, sensing that somehow this was the reason for his strange behaviour at the graveside and the cause of his distracted demeanour in the days that had followed. Colley fervently hoped it was, because experience had taught him that a distracted John Blizzard did not think clearly when he was investigating cases. Free his mind of the clutter and the chief inspector honed in like a laser on the salient points. That was why he often went to work on the Old Lady during difficult inquiries, to find peace amid the tangled metal and rusty old tools. And, in Colley’s view, something to clear his mind was exactly what was needed now, so he waited and watched his friend intently. And hoped.

  ‘My grandfather,’ continued Blizzard. ‘On my mother’s side.’

  The chief inspector stared into the flickering firelight, transported for a moment to stand once more by the graveside at the farm, seeing again, through the swirling mists, the man’s face, seeing that crooked smile in the photograph, hearing once more the clatter of battle and the rattle of death. And in those seconds in the cosy living room he felt grief and bereavement and loss as acutely as he had during those first moments at the farm. It was the sensation that had surprised him then and it was the sensation that surprised him now. We will remember them at the going down of the sun and in the morning, he thought. And in that moment, John Blizzard remembered the man. And decided it was time for others to remember him as well.

  ‘Frank William Robinson,’ he said, adding with a chuckle, ‘Frank 2 they used to call him.’

  ‘Frank 2?’ asked Colley.

  ‘Yeah, there was another Frank lived in the village, a couple of months older than my grandfather, so they called them Frank 1 and Frank 2. Daft really, Frank 1 had the brightest red hair you ever had seen, they could not have been more different if they had tried.’

  Blizzard stood up and walked out into the hallway, returning a moment later with his wallet, which he opened, producing a crumpled black and white photograph, handling it gently like it was delicate silk which could tear at any moment. Unfolding it carefully, like he had a thousand times over the past year, he showed it to them. The first time anyone outside his family had seen it.

  ‘That’s him,’ he said.

  They looked with fascination at the image of a handsome young man, dressed in soldier’s uniform and standing in a summer garden, stared at the dark hair cropped short and immaculately groomed, at the angular and prominent cheekbones and at the laughing eyes. They looked at the smile and suddenly knew why it was a picture which so affected John Blizzard. It was almost as if Frank knew they were looking at him and in that moment, he reached out to each of them down the years. It was an uncanny and powerful feeling.

  ‘What happened?’ asked Fee, moving over to kneel by the armchair and reaching across to take his hand.

  ‘His troop ship sank in the Azores in 1942,’ said Blizzard. ‘He was with the Hafton Regiment at the time. They never found his body.’

  ‘That’s awful,’ said Jay.

  ‘We can only imagine what Frank’s final minutes were like,’ said Blizzard. ‘Or perhaps it is better that we don’t.’

  ‘No wonder you have been acting oddly over the past few days,’ said Colley.

  ‘Yeah, sorry about that. It never really bothered me before.’

  There was an awkward silence for a moment as Blizzard gathered his thoughts.

  ‘Somehow the grave at the farm has assumed an importance for me. I have gone back a couple of times.’ He noticed the sergeant’s surprised expression. ‘Sorry, David, I should have told
you, but I didn’t go back because of the case, it’s just that in a strange way it makes me feel closer to him.’

  And he looked down at Fee with an embarrassed smile.

  ‘Stupid really.’

  ‘No, it’s not,’ said Fee quietly, squeezing his hand. ‘We all need to know where we come from, John.’

  ‘Yes,’ said Blizzard quietly, nodding at her and squeezing her hand back. ‘Yes, I think we do.’

  And he turned away to look into the firelight again. He did not want them to see the tears glistening in his eyes.

  Chapter fourteen

  His mind cleared by his admissions the night before and his mood significantly lightened by the prospect of a day off, Blizzard sweated off his hangover the next morning on a ten-mile bike ride with Fee. It was the kind of crisp and bright morning when it was a joy to be alive. The ice glistened on the hedgerows and the sun glinted off the tarmac beneath wisps of blue sky that heralded a welcome end to a fortnight in which endless winter days had followed endless winter nights.

  As the couple rode through the country lanes surrounding the chief inspector’s home, chatting idly about nothing in particular, Blizzard felt his alcohol-induced headache gradually dissipating and his spirits rising for the first time in weeks. That it should happen on a bike would have amazed many that knew him before Fee walked into his life. A year earlier and it would have amazed him as well because for many years the chief inspector had harboured a deep dislike of exercise and regarded those who took part in it with great suspicion.

  All that had changed eighteen months before when he hosted a press conference at Abbey Road and was horrified at the photograph that appeared in the newspaper that evening. When Colley pointed it out, Blizzard’s feeble attempts to blame the double chin on a trick of the light or a bad camera angle only served to make the chief inspector realise that he had to lose some weight.

  Blizzard enjoyed his Sunday morning ride that day, he and Fee chatting comfortably about anything that wasn’t linked to policing as they rode along the winding lanes to the west of Hafton, appreciating the unaccustomed warmth as the sun burnt away the mist, sending clouds of steam rising from the road surface. Yet always, behind the idle conversation, Blizzard was thinking about the case and starting to come to some conclusions. Feeling as if somehow a great weight had been removed from his shoulders at Colley’s house the night before, he soon found himself in a cheerful mood, and after the bike ride the couple went back to his house, changed and went out for lunch at the village pub. Then they drove into the city, where Blizzard spent a couple of hours with his mother in the residential home, talking properly about Frank.