NO AGE TO DIE: The release of a dangerous prisoner leads to murder (DCI John Blizzard Book 9) by John Dean (digital ebook reader .txt) 📕

‘I suspect you would,’ said Blizzard thoughtfully.

* * *

Sarah Allatt was sitting in the CID squad room shortly after 4.00pm when she received the call on her mobile phone that she had been waiting for.

‘DC Allatt?’ said a woman’s voice.

‘Speaking.’

‘I’m DC Ellie Tarrant, Thames Valley.’ She sounded wary. ‘I understand you want to talk to me about Margaret Hatton.’

‘I do, yes.’

‘Can I ask why?’ asked Tarrant.

‘She’s turned up in our area and my DCI is concerned about some of her activities.’

‘Well, you tell your DCI to be careful. If it’s anything like down here, she’s got some influential friends, has Margaret Hatton. She’s very well thought of in council circles and by some of our senior officers as well. She’s got some pretty powerful friends in Whitehall as well. And she’s an MBE, remember.’

‘Not sure that will cut much ice with my governor,’ said Allatt. ‘He’s not one for reputations.’

‘Neither was my governor. Not that it did him much good. He left the force after being overlooked for promotion three times after tangling with her. You need to be careful when you’re dealing with Margaret Hatton. What’s been happening?’

‘We’ve had a murder and two other people put in hospital.’

‘And you think Margaret may be involved, do you?’

‘Indirectly,’ said Allatt. ‘She’s whipped up a lot of bad feeling.’

‘That’s what she does,’ said Tarrant. She was silent for a few moments.

‘You still there?’ asked Allatt.

‘Yeah.’ The tone of voice was more urgent now, the voice lower. ‘Listen, there’s no way I want my name dragging into this. By rights, I shouldn’t really be talking to you. I had to swear the lad who took the message to secrecy. Do you understand?’

‘Sure. Do I take it that Margaret Hatton has got something to hide then?’

‘She certainly has,’ said Tarrant. ‘But you’ll have to stay up late if you want to find out. See, you might want to ring New Zealand.’

‘That’s no problem,’ said Allatt. ‘My governor has promised us all a late night anyway.’

Chapter twenty-six

John Blizzard had an acute sense of satisfaction as he stood at the front of the briefing room at Abbey Road Police Station that evening. The inspector had had enough of politics and religion and it was a relief to think of something other than dead children; smashing in villain’s doors was what he knew best and in front of him were more than seventy officers prepared to do just that. They lounged about on chairs, chatting casually, swapping stories of the day and exchanging jokes. Most were in uniform, some wore plain clothes and a number – burly officers, hard men – were in the dark blue overalls and caps which identified them as being from the Tactical Support Group, the heavy hitters brought in for the tough jobs. Scattered among the gathering were officers from the armed response unit.

The atmosphere in the room changed as Blizzard clapped his hands and called for quiet. Suddenly, all eyes were on him.

‘Ladies and gentlemen,’ he said. ‘Thank you for gathering at such short notice. Your presence here confirms what I have always known about the men and women of this force – that the promise of overtime works wonders.’

There was a murmur of laughter, including a chuckle from Colley, who was leaning against a wall at the back of the room as usual. Watching Blizzard deal with the troops was always a pleasure, he thought. They may not find him an easy person to know – Blizzard did not let many people get close to him – but to a man and woman, the officers respected and trusted him. And when he addressed such gatherings, there was something about the way he spoke, a fire which instilled within them a desire to get the job done. Now, once more, they recognised that steely expression and the hardening of his voice as the inspector held up the front page of the local newspaper.

‘I’m sure you have all seen this,’ he said.

More murmurs.

‘Well,’ he continued, ‘I want to ram those words down the editor’s throat.’

Applause.

‘What’s more, if we get this right, it will put the fear of God into our criminal brethren.’ Blizzard gave a slight smile. ‘And after the week we’ve had, it’s about time that the risen Lord did something for us. I reckon he owes us a favour.’

He gave the laughter time to ripple round the room then die away.

‘I could bang on like I normally do on these occasions,’ he said. ‘But I won’t. This front page should be all the motivation you need and, as you go out there tonight, I want you to carry one thought with you above all others. We are the police, we run this city, not the criminals, and it is time to remind everyone about that. OK, on your way. Happy hunting.’

Again, the officers applauded, Ronald nodded his appreciation and there was a heightened energy in the room as the teams stood up and headed for their individual briefings. They were ready to do battle and soon the crew buses and cars were heading out of the police station yard. Their destination was somewhere that every police officer in Western Division knew well. Built in the sixties, The Manor was a rundown estate, blighted by decades of neglect, its flats taken over by low-level criminals, its decent tenants forced out by threats from drug dealers. The police mounted regular raids but several months previously, one of them had gone badly wrong. Two officers called at a flat to arrest a teenage drug dealer but during the scuffle that followed the nineteen-year-old died. The post-mortem concluded that he was ill with hepatitis and could have died at any time but the media coverage made