NO AGE TO DIE: The release of a dangerous prisoner leads to murder (DCI John Blizzard Book 9) by John Dean (free ebook reader for android .TXT) 📗

Blizzard nodded his agreement.

‘Anyway,’ said Tom. ‘They were unpleasant to a couple of Martha’s friends and she told them what she thought of them. Next thing we knew, Edgar Rose-Harvey said she was not needed to do the flowers anymore.’

Tears had started in the old man’s eyes and he paused to gather his composure.

‘Martha was very upset,’ he said eventually. ‘They were very unpleasant to her in the days that followed, and to me as well, so we left. Went to St Cuthbert’s instead. It was terribly sad, we had attended St John’s for nigh on sixty years but they forced us out.’

‘They would say that they had to take firm action to save the church from closure.’

‘Maybe they would, Chief Inspector, but did they have to hurt so many people in the process?’ The tears glistened in the old man’s eyes again. ‘I genuinely believe that my Martha would be alive today if they hadn’t driven her out. Her dementia got much worse after it happened.’

Blizzard thought back to the thin file into Martha Raine’s disappearance.

‘Did you mention this business with the church at the time?’ he asked.

‘I told one of your constables. A nice young man.’

‘Do you recall his name?’

‘I’m sorry, no,’ said Tom Raine. ‘And I wouldn’t tell you if I could.’

‘Why not?’

‘I do not want to get anyone into trouble and, to be fair to him, I didn’t make a big thing of it at the time anyway. Like he said, dementia makes people do strange things, and being unpleasant to someone is not against the law, is it?’

‘No, it isn’t but there’s something very wrong at St John’s,’ said Blizzard.

‘That’s what Martha always said. Will you help me find her, Chief Inspector?’

Blizzard thought for a few moments then nodded.

‘Do you know?’ he said. ‘I think that I will.’

Chapter twelve

The next morning dawned bright and sunny and Blizzard’s gloomy mood of the previous day brightened as he drove into the city from his home in the small village of Haltby, which he shared with his girlfriend, Fee, and their young son. When he pulled into the car park behind Abbey Road Police Station, there was news to further improve his mood. Colley, who had been watching for him from the CID office window, walked out of the building, pulling on his anorak as he did so.

‘Where you off to?’ asked Blizzard as he got out of the car.

‘Somewhere that might interest you,’ said the sergeant. ‘A woman saw your appeal for help on the telly last night and rang the incident room. Reckons she saw Albert Macklin hanging around the canal at the time Jamie was killed.’

Fifteen minutes later, the inspector brought his car to a halt outside an old people’s sheltered complex. Soon, the detectives were sitting in the small, tidy flat of Agnes Proud, surrounded by the trinkets which chronicled her life, photographs of her dead husband and her beaming grandchildren and a couple of faded cat ornaments.

‘Mrs Proud,’ said Colley. ‘Can you go through what you saw on the canal bank again, please?’

‘Biscuit?’ asked Agnes. She offered them a plate of custard creams. ‘You, young men, have got to keep your strength up.’

Blizzard took one but Colley declined.

‘The canal?’ he said.

‘Well,’ she said. Her voice was firm and definite as she sat down in a battered old armchair and reached for a biscuit. ‘It was about three o’clock and I was having a walk along the canal: I like to have a walk most days, keeps my old joints in working order.’

‘And what did you see?’

‘I saw an oldish-looking man walking along the path towards me.’

‘What was he wearing?’

‘A long brown raincoat – it seemed new – and a scruffy brown suit. It didn’t really fit him, a bit baggy, and the lapels were frayed. It was definitely an old suit, you don’t see that design these days.’ She smiled. ‘I worked in a clothes shop for many years. You look for these things straight away.’

The detectives exchanged glances: apart from the new raincoat, which he could have acquired on release, she was describing the clothes Albert Macklin had been wearing when they saw him outside the prison.

‘What was his face like?’ asked Colley.

‘No need for a description,’ said Agnes. ‘It was Albie Macklin, alright.’

‘But how do you know?’ said Colley. ‘The picture used in the media when he came out was taken twenty years ago when he was sent to prison. He’s changed a lot since then.’

‘Not that much, young man. I have known Albie for many years. We went to school together. He was a wrong’un then. After we left school, I often used to see him around town – when he wasn’t in prison.’ She turned anxious eyes on the detectives. ‘You don’t think he killed that poor boy, do you?’

‘I do not know what to think,’ said Blizzard. ‘I hope not.’

‘That’s what I said to the vicar.’

‘Henry Sanders?’ said Colley. ‘You talked to him about this?’

‘Yes, such a nice man.’

‘You go to St John’s then?’

‘Not any more.’ Her face clouded over. ‘I go to St Cuthbert’s now. A lot of the older ones do.’

‘So, when did you see the vicar?’ asked Blizzard.

‘A few minutes after I saw Albie. He was walking down the path that leads from the canal towards the city centre.’

The detectives looked at each other.

‘Let me get this right,’ said Blizzard slowly. ‘Henry Sanders was on the canal bank at the same time you saw Albie?’

‘Yes, we only stopped for a quick chat. He seemed to be in a hurry.’ She realised the import of what she saying and clapped a hand to her mouth. ‘Oh, but surely you don’t think…?’

‘It’s probably coincidence,’