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

able to do whatever he liked.’
‘But you must have viewed the decision to admit him to the hostel with some trepidation?’ asked the reporter. ‘I mean, children attend the church, don’t they?’
Blizzard looked at Ronald and remembered his warning not to play politics. The superintendent pursed his lips and waited uneasily for Blizzard’s reply.
‘I am sorry,’ said the inspector. ‘I have no comment to make on that. Oversight of the hostel rests with the church and the city council, as I am sure you are already aware.’
Ronald gave a slight nod of appreciation.
‘Any more questions?’ asked Blizzard.
‘Yes,’ said a radio reporter. ‘Is there any truth in the rumour that a man who works at the hostel is in hospital after being hit by a brick last night?’
Blizzard cursed inwardly; he had hoped to keep the information out of the public domain for fear of further heightening tensions in the area.
‘I can confirm that we are investigating an incident, yes,’ he said.
‘Has anyone been arrested?’
‘Not yet. However, we are pursuing some strong lines of inquiry.’
‘Does that include questioning members of the protest group?’ asked the reporter. ‘Like Bob Lennox, for example?’
‘I cannot comment on individual elements of the investigation.’
Blizzard sought out one of the television cameras and stared straight down the lens. Time for a sound bite. The press office would like that and the chief constable would be assured that sending him on the recent media relations course had not been a complete waste of public money.
‘What I would say,’ he continued, ‘is that this is a time for calm heads. We do not want to see people taking the law into their own hands. Whoever is found to have committed offences will be arrested, I can promise you that but it is not for the community to make such judgements.’
After a further five minutes, the press conference broke up and, with Ronald having agreed to give the follow-up interviews so that Blizzard could return to the investigation, the inspector slipped out of the room, met up with Colley and together they walked along the corridor.
‘You got off pretty lightly,’ said the sergeant. ‘It could have gone a lot worse.’
‘This one has got a long way to run yet,’ replied Blizzard. ‘The media can sense a story.’
‘So, what next?’
‘I want to talk to the vicar of St John’s. We need to find out if Macklin was able to get hold of that bat.’ The inspector keyed in the code to open the door into reception. ‘And we need to find Bob Lennox as well. He’s the most likely one to have chucked that brick. That or his Brain of Britain son. What’s more–’
As the detectives walked into the reception area, they heard raised voices outside the police station. Blizzard turned to look at the young girl on reception.
‘What’s happening?’ he asked.
‘They’ve just arrived, sir. They’re protesting about the hostel again.’
‘That’s all we need,’ said Blizzard.
As the detectives pushed their way out of the front door of the station, they were assailed by a group of people shouting angrily and jabbing fingers in their direction. At their head was Margaret Hatton, her beige raincoat speckled with rain despite the umbrella. Next to her was Bob Lennox, his white T-shirt sodden as the rain teemed down, his jeans scruffy and tattered as always. The detectives noticed a number of other faces from the protest that had been staged outside the church, including Lennox’s son.
‘So much for calm heads,’ murmured Colley as the volume of voices rose when people saw the officers. ‘I take it that you don’t want to nick Bob Lennox now then?’
‘If we do it here, there’ll be absolute mayhem,’ said Blizzard in a low voice. ‘We’ll get him later.’
Bob Lennox pushed his way to the front of the group and angrily jabbed a finger in the direction of Blizzard.
‘How many more?’ he said. ‘How many more is Albert Macklin going to kill, Chief Inspector? How many more like my son?’
His face was twisted into a leer which showed crooked, yellowing teeth. Behind him, other protestors, including a couple of children, mirrored his fury, jeering and also jabbing accusing fingers at the detectives.
‘We are doing everything in our power to–’ began Blizzard but he was drowned out by yells.
‘If I get my hands on that bastard…’ said Lennox.
Margaret Hatton silenced him with an elegant wave of a gloved hand.
‘Enough, Bob,’ she said.
The detectives noted the effect that her words had on him as Lennox took several steps back and fell silent. Margaret Hatton turned to the chief inspector.
‘I am sure, however, that you can understand the anger of these people, Mr Blizzard,’ she said. ‘We did try to warn you about Albert Macklin.’
‘I don’t need warning about him,’ said Blizzard. ‘But at the moment, there is no evidence to connect him with the death of this young man.’
He was about to make further comment when he noted that the reporters and photographers were tumbling out of the police station, eager to observe the confrontation. The inspector resolved to keep his thoughts to himself and started to walk away.
‘You don’t know where he is, do you?’ said Hatton. There was steel in her voice. ‘You’ve lost track of Albert Macklin, Chief Inspector, so how can you say for definite that he did not kill this poor boy?’
Ugly murmurs rippled through the crowd. Blizzard noted that the local newspaper reporter was talking earnestly to Bob Lennox. Their conversation at an end, the journalist turned to face Blizzard.
‘Chief Inspector,’ he shouted. ‘Is it right that you were so concerned about Albert Macklin that you warned him off when he was released from prison?’
‘I don’t intend to conduct my inquiries for the benefit of the media!’ snapped Blizzard.
The crowd parted to let