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

Lennox and, as a young uniformed officer, Blizzard had been one of the team which took part in the search of the frozen canal-side for evidence after the body of the fourteen-year-old was discovered, concealed beneath a hurriedly-constructed hide made of branches. It had been found by a woman walking her dog.
It had not taken the murder team long to come knocking on Albert Macklin’s door. A man with a record like his was always the first to come under suspicion. Macklin denied enticing the teenager to the canal-side, claiming Danny Lennox had been a willing participant in a sex game. The boy, he said, had become frightened and tried to run away. According to Macklin, he was terrified that the teenager would tell the police and panicked, grabbing a branch which was lying nearby and striking the boy. Danny had fallen and hit his head. It was all a horrible accident, Macklin claimed in court, except that the post-mortem revealed that the teenager had been struck several times. The jury took just thirty-five minutes to make its decision and Macklin was sentenced to life with a recommendation to serve at least twenty years. Now, with those two decades having passed, he was being released and Blizzard and Colley were waiting for him.
Shortly after ten o’clock, the prison gates swung slowly open and a small man emerged, tentatively looking about as if unsure what to do next.
‘That’s him,’ said Blizzard.
Colley surveyed the man for a moment; he had heard a lot about Macklin but had never seen him. Very few people had for twenty years, and Colley only had an old picture to go on. Time had not been kind to the prisoner. Macklin, who was dressed in a dishevelled baggy brown suit which might once have been fashionable, seemed somehow crumpled – his legs bandy, his back slightly stooped, his white hair wispy and receding, his cheeks hollow and sunken and his bony chin speckled with stubble. He could have been mistaken for any other harmless little old man, thought Colley, but for the three-inch scar on his right cheek and his mouth, which was thin, cruel and revealed crooked yellowing teeth when the lips parted. Albert Macklin, the sergeant sensed, was still dangerous.
‘Jesus,’ he breathed.
‘You try to tell me that he should be allowed out,’ said Blizzard. ‘You’d think one look would be enough to keep him in, wouldn’t you? Come on, let’s get it over with.’
The detectives got out of the vehicle and walked across the car park towards Macklin who was still standing in front of the prison, continuing to look bewildered. His expression changed to one of hostility as he noticed them approaching.
‘You police?’ he said in his high-pitched, nasal voice.
‘I am Detective Chief Inspector John Blizzard of Hafton Police.’ The DCI flashed his warrant card. ‘This is Detective Sergeant Colley.’
‘What happened to Dennis Barry?’ asked Macklin.
‘You’ve been away a long time,’ said Blizzard. ‘Detective Chief Inspector Barry retired eight years ago. He died a few months ago. Heart failure.’
‘Couldn’t have happened to a nicer man.’ A thin smile played on Macklin’s lips. ‘So, what do you want with me? I’ve done my time.’
‘It’s a friendly warning,’ said Blizzard. ‘Western Division is my patch now and I will be watching you, sunshine. One wrong move and you’ll be back inside that fast your feet won’t touch the ground. If I were you, I’d leave the city.’
‘What! Just because you say so?’ There was outrage in the voice but it sounded fake. Albert Macklin knew how the game was played.
‘It’s for your own good,’ said Blizzard. ‘There are a lot of people who would like to have a go at you. We might not be able to stop them, eh, Sergeant?’
‘Can’t be watching your back all the time,’ said Colley.
‘But I’ve served my time, why would anyone–’ began Macklin innocently.
‘Don’t play the fool with me,’ said Blizzard. ‘You know damn well that once word spreads that you are out, Danny Lennox’s family will come looking for you so might I suggest–’
‘You are in no position to suggest anything,’ said a young man. He stepped quickly in front of the startled detectives. ‘Albie is coming with me.’
‘I doubt even his mother called him Albie.’ Blizzard glowered at the bespectacled man in his early twenties, with his lank brown hair, freckled face, brown cords and a leather jacket. ‘And do you mind telling me who the bloody hell you are anyway?’
‘My name is Jacob Reed. I work at the hostel for ex-offenders based at St John’s Church.’
‘That’s all the old rogue needs,’ said Blizzard. ‘Some bloody yoghurt-knitting Bible-bashers looking after him.’
‘I’ll thank you to keep your prejudices to yourself,’ said Reed. ‘And, like it or not, Albie will be staying with us until he can find his feet.’
‘Well, when he does, hopefully they’ll be taking him out of the city,’ said Blizzard.
Reed said nothing but took Macklin by the arm and started to lead him towards a battered Citroën parked nearby. After a few steps, Reed turned back towards the detectives.
‘And I’ll thank you to stay away from him,’ he said.
‘Toerag,’ muttered Blizzard. He watched Reed reach the car and open the passenger door to allow Macklin to get in. ‘What is the world coming to, David?’
‘And after you were so friendly with the nice young yoghurt-knitting Bible-basher, as well,’ said the sergeant. ‘Some people just have no gratitude.’
‘And how come they are allowed to keep someone like Macklin next to a church where kids go?’ said the inspector. He watched Macklin get into the car. ‘I thought the city council only let them open the hostel on condition that they had low-level offenders. God knows what the locals will say when they find out they’re taking Albert Macklin there.’
‘More protests, I would guess,’ said Colley.
The detectives