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

from Margaret Hatton, the crowd started to disperse, all except Bob Lennox and his son, who hesitated a moment longer.
‘Bob,’ said Blizzard. There was a tone of warning in his voice.
Lennox seemed to crumple.
‘He killed my boy, Mr Blizzard,’ he said. His voice was low and the detectives saw tears start in his eyes. ‘He was fourteen. It’s no age to die.’
‘No, it isn’t,’ said Blizzard. His tone was also softer and he placed a hand on Lennox’s arm. ‘But getting yourself locked up for someone like that won’t do anyone any good, will it now?’
Lennox shook his head and, after a moment or two, turned and walked off into the night, followed closely by his son. Blizzard turned to Margaret Hatton.
‘I would like to think that you are heading back to Buckinghamshire,’ said the inspector. ‘I can’t help feel that your continued presence in Hafton will fuel more disorder.’
‘I aim to stay,’ she said. Her voice had also changed from the harsh one of confrontation to a gentler, sadder tone. ‘You see, I have a personal interest in this case. A man like Albert Macklin also killed my son. I cannot sleep knowing that these types of people are being let out of prison and I will not cease campaigning until it stops happening.’
‘I can understand that,’ said Blizzard. ‘But trying to trash the hostel will not help, will it?’
She did not reply.
‘Do you want to say anything to the news, Chief Inspector?’ asked the reporter. He stepped forward, notebook at the ready.
‘Not really,’ replied Blizzard.
‘But–’
‘But nothing. Now sod off before I have one of the Boy Scouts check your tyres.’
The reporter opened his mouth to object, thought better of it and he and the photographer walked away, shooting angry glances over their shoulders at the unperturbed chief inspector. Blizzard watched Margaret Hatton catch them up and start an earnest conversation, the reporter eagerly scribbling down what she was saying.
‘I’ve got a bad feeling about this, David,’ said Blizzard. ‘This is only the start.’
The inspector glanced towards the hostel and caught a glimpse of Macklin’s face peering out of a window. The former prisoner had lost his confident air from earlier in the day and looked pale and frightened. Blizzard turned to Jacob Reed.
‘I am not sure that we can stop them tearing him limb from limb next time,’ he said. ‘I really do urge you to get him out of here.’
‘But it goes against everything we believe,’ said Reed. ‘When he was on the Cross, our Lord–’
‘Sod your Lord!’ exclaimed Blizzard. ‘You may think that you are doing something important here but I am telling you that if Albert Macklin stays, someone will get to him… and probably won’t care if they knock your head off to do it. You’ve seen what they’re like. Get Albert Macklin out of Hafton.’
With that, Blizzard turned on his heel and stalked across the street towards the car. Jacob Reed looked hopefully at Colley.
‘Can’t you talk some sense into him?’ he asked.
‘He’s right,’ said the sergeant. ‘Albert Macklin is trouble. He has no place in this city.’
He followed Blizzard across the street, leaving a disconsolate Jacob Reed standing in front of the broken windows, watched impassively by the two rookie uniforms preparing for a long, cold evening on sentry duty as rain began to fall again.
* * *
Back at Abbey Road Police Station, Blizzard walked into the CID room which was empty except for a slim, dark-haired young women sitting at one of the desks. Sarah Allatt was the latest recruit to his CID team.
‘Sarah,’ he said. He gestured to the detective constable’s laptop. ‘Can you google a name for me? Margaret Hatton. Runs some kind of campaign organisation. The Locked Door Foundation.’
Allatt tapped on her keyboard and ran a finger down the screen.
‘According to their website,’ said the constable, ‘she set it up more than fifteen years ago to call for life to mean life for child murderers. It’s a charity.’
‘What does it say about her?’
‘She’s well-respected, by the looks of it. Ex-teacher who has advised the Home Office on child safeguarding on a number of occasions, and there’s a list of councils for whom she has done work as a consultant. Some really big councils as well.’ She flicked onto the next page. ‘Does quite a bit of media. She’s been on Newsnight three times and is a regular on Channel 4 News.’
‘She mentioned something about her son having been murdered,’ said Blizzard. He wandered over to the window and stared down at the police station yard. ‘Anything about that?’
Allatt opened another page.
‘Alexander,’ she said. She ran her finger down the screen again. ‘He was killed in 2004 when he was thirteen. It says here that he was attacked by a paedophile on his way home from a park one evening. No more detail, though.’
‘Did they get the man who did it?’
‘Doesn’t look like it.’ Allatt read down the page. ‘However, following his death, Margaret started hearing about cases in which child murderers were released early and began campaigning to make sure that life means life in such cases. She was awarded an MBE four years ago for services to child safeguarding. There’s a picture of her with The Queen.’
‘That’s all we need,’ said Blizzard gloomily. ‘A right Royal troublemaker.’

Chapter three
‘Like you said,’ murmured Blizzard. ‘Fourteen is no age to die.’
There was no reply from David Colley. Words would not have been enough, anyway. It was dusk, two days after the confrontation with the protestors outside the church, and the detectives were standing on the towpath that ran alongside Hafton Canal. They were staring down at the body of a teenage boy, whose face was partly concealed by dried blood from a head injury. His limbs were splayed awkwardly, his forearms