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) 📗

Ronald and Blizzard had not shared their commanders’ misgivings and were desperate to put things right as the convoy swept through moonlit streets and arrived at the estate. Responsibility for the operation on the ground had been handed over to uniformed Chief Inspector Gerry Craven, a tough no-nonsense officer, and on his word the teams moved in. Blizzard and Colley got out of one of the vans and stood in the quadrangle listening to the shouting and the sound of doors being forced in.

‘Go on then,’ said Blizzard, noticing the gleam in his sergeant’s eyes. ‘Play nice.’

Colley shot him a grateful look and limped off across the square and up one of the stinking, dark stairwells, rugby injury and damaged hand seemingly forgotten. Moments later, Blizzard saw him plunge into one of the flats and manhandle a protesting man out onto the landing. The chief inspector chuckled.

‘Kids,’ he said.

‘Should he be doing that with that hand of his?’ asked Ronald. He ambled up to Blizzard and followed his colleague’s gaze to where Colley was handcuffing the man before handing him over to one of the uniforms and plunging back into the darkness. ‘I mean, what about Health and Safety and all that?’

‘You do spout some rubbish, Arthur,’ said Blizzard affectionately. ‘Besides, you try telling him to stop.’

‘Aye, maybe you’re right.’

They watched as a stream of arrested men were led to the waiting vans. Blizzard glanced at Alice Greer; the press officer had invited the media to witness the event and was overseeing their activities. She gave him a smile and a couple of the arrested men shouted profanities in his direction.

‘Should make for some better headlines,’ said Blizzard.

Craven approached them.

‘Sorry, John,’ he said. ‘No Bob Lennox or his son. Plenty of bodies, though, loads of drugs and a good five grand in cash.’

‘That’ll do for starters, Gerry. Lennox cannot hide from us for ever.’ Blizzard beamed as he noticed Colley leading someone out of the shadows at the far end of the quadrangle. ‘Besides, The Manor turns out not to be so godforsaken, after all.’

Craven followed his gaze to watch Colley take his prisoner towards one of the vans.

‘Why, who is he?’ asked Craven.

Blizzard stared down at the bedraggled figure of Reverend Henry Sanders, now clearly visible in the half-light as he was loaded into the vehicle. Colley looked up and gave a thumbs-up at Blizzard.

‘That,’ said the inspector, ‘is a gift from the Good Lord. I told you that he owed us a favour.’

* * *

As the final police teams wrapped up their activities at The Manor, Sarah Allatt returned to Abbey Road, went into an office and closed the door. She fished her mobile phone out of her jacket pocket and stared at it thoughtfully for a few moments.

‘Time to wake the dead,’ she murmured.

She dialled and a man’s voice answered.

‘Hello,’ he said. He sounded wary. ‘Who is this?’

‘Am I speaking to Darren Meadows?’

‘Who wants to know? And how did you get my number?’

‘My name is Sarah Allatt. I’m a detective constable with Hafton Police in the UK.’

‘What do you want?’

‘To speak to you about Margaret Hatton,’ said Allatt.

There was silence for a few moments.

‘I’ve never heard of her,’ said Meadows. ‘You must have a wrong number.’

‘I don’t think so, Alistair,’ said Allatt. ‘I can call you Alistair, can’t I? Although I think that your mother prefers to refer to you as Alexander.’

‘I have no idea what you are talking about. My name is Darren Mea–’

‘Can we stop playing games, please? You’re clearly Alistair, you clearly weren’t murdered and Margaret Hatton is clearly your mother.’

He was silent for a few more moments.

‘So, you know,’ he said eventually. ‘What about it?’

‘I need your help,’ said Allatt.

‘Look, love, I have a new identity and a new life. I have not spoken to my mother for the best part of twenty years and I have no intention of talking about her either. Some detective from Thames Valley Police tried three or four years ago and I told him the same thing.’

‘But we’d not reveal–’

‘Yes, but word would get out somehow, wouldn’t it? Especially if you charged her with something. I’d have the media all over me and I don’t want that. I want to protect my children from the intrusion and, if you try to go public with this, you’ll be hearing from my lawyer. I’m sure you understand.’

‘I do understand but, unfortunately, this is not just about you, Alistair. Your mother has caused a situation which has cost one life and could yet cost another.’

‘Not my problem,’ said Meadows.

And the line went dead. Allatt sighed and headed out into the corridor and along to Blizzard’s office where the inspector was sitting at his desk.

‘How did it go?’ asked Blizzard.

‘He doesn’t want to talk,’ replied Allatt. ‘Says he doesn’t want the media intrusion once word gets out.’

‘I don’t blame him.’ Blizzard gestured for her to sit, which she did. ‘He’d not get a minute’s peace. So, what do we know for certain?’

‘Mainly what the detective at Thames Valley told us. Margaret went through an acrimonious divorce when Alistair was eight and his father was granted custody and took him to New Zealand. We’ve confirmed that much from the passport records. We’re assuming the child did not have much in the way of contact with his mother because after his father died when Alistair was eighteen, he changed his name.’

‘So, when did she start claiming that he had been murdered?’

‘Several years after she started her safeguarding consultancy. We suspect that it was not going well so she started saying that her child had been murdered by a paedophile to give her extra credibility. She first mentioned it