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

assaulted on his way home. Blood poured from his nose, to which he was clutching a crimson-stained handkerchief.
‘Who’d be a nurse?’ said Blizzard. He headed towards the door. ‘Come on, we can’t do anything else here.’
‘Got to be Bob Lennox, hasn’t it?’ said Colley as they walked out into the night air.
‘Could be any of them,’ said Blizzard. ‘But Bob’s a fair bet. He’s pretty wound up about things.’
‘We’re going to nick him now?’
‘No, let’s check him out in the morning. The Chief is already twitchy enough and the last thing I want to do is spark a riot at this time of night.’
Blizzard had only just returned to his office when Sarah Allatt knocked on the door. He gestured for her to take a seat.
‘You find out much at the church?’ he asked.
‘I talked to the assistant manager.’ Allatt looked down at her notebook. ‘Glenda Rutherford. She was the one who found him. He’d just taken over from her. She was halfway down the street when she heard the glass breaking.’
‘And the hostel residents. Any of them see anything?’
‘None of them were in at the time. According to Glenda, they’re supposed to be in for ten o’clock but it’s usually after that. As far as I can ascertain, Jacob Reed was alone in the church when the attack happened. I’ve left forensics there.’
‘OK,’ said Blizzard. ‘Get yourself home. It’s been a long day. We’ll pick this up in the morning.’

Chapter five
‘Well?’ asked Blizzard impatiently.
‘Not really,’ replied Home Office Pathologist Peter Reynolds. He straightened up and gave a sly smile at the inspector’s pained expression at one of his oft-used quips. ‘In fact, I’d go as far as to say that he’s dead.’
Blizzard stood and glared across the examination room, which was on the ground floor of the general hospital. There were many people in life that he disliked and Peter Reynolds was near the top of his list. As ever, the thing that Blizzard found most difficult to fathom as he watched the pathologist probing the teenager’s body was the gusto with which Reynolds did his job. A balding middle-aged little man with piggy eyes twinkling out of a chubby face, the pathologist loved post-mortems, and even more than that, he loved post-mortems with police officers present because he knew that they hated the experience. Reynolds had grown used to the sights and smells years ago. That many police officers had not was a constant joy to him.
The pathologist particularly liked winding up John Blizzard. Their encounters were legendary within the force and David Colley watched with keen interest as he stood in his customary position leaning against the wall. Following encounters between the two men, he was always inundated with requests for every minute detail by colleagues; every sly quip from Reynolds, every brusque reply from Blizzard, was seized upon.
‘So, what killed him?’ asked Blizzard. He tried to keep the irritation from his voice but it was not easy.
Reynolds did not reply immediately and the inspector watched with distaste as he ran a hand absent-mindedly across the teenager’s battered skull.
‘Something red,’ said the pathologist.
‘Red?’ said Blizzard. ‘The search teams didn’t find anything red at the scene. Just branches and a few lumps of concrete. Are you sure it’s red?’
‘I am,’ said Reynolds. He held up a plastic evidence bag containing a collection of shards which glinted under the harsh lights of the post-mortem room. ‘See?’
‘Where did you get them?’ asked Colley. He moved over to peer closer.
‘From the skull. They’re fragments of wood. There is no doubt that they came from the murder weapon. It must have been something fairly heavy as well. And it was wielded with some force. The trauma to the brain is extensive. I have sent a sample to your forensics people.’
‘Any other injuries?’ asked Colley.
‘Quite a number.’ Reynolds held up the boy’s right forearm to reveal a series of scratches. ‘These are new but there are older injuries as well.’
‘What are they?’ asked Blizzard.
‘Scars which suggest that he has been struck with something sharp – a belt buckle, maybe. And there are signs of at least two fractures, one on his other forearm and a rib. Maybe two or three years ago. It’s difficult to be more precise.’
‘Had he been sexually assaulted?’ asked Blizzard.
‘There’s nothing to suggest that.’
‘Are you sure?’
‘I am always sure, Chief Inspector.’ Reynolds shot him one of his sly looks. ‘Unlike the esteemed members of the Constabulary, I do not engage in idle speculation.’
Blizzard glowered at him.
‘Any DNA?’ he asked.
‘Nothing of use.’
‘Doesn’t mean it’s not a sexual assault, does it, though?’ said Colley. ‘It could just be that the kid fought back before the attacker had a chance to do anything.’
‘And far be it for a humble medical man to tell you how to do your job,’ said Reynolds, ‘but there are striking similarities to the physical injuries sustained by the Lennox boy when he was murdered. It does rather look to me like you need to talk to our Mr Macklin.’
‘You’re right,’ said Blizzard. ‘It isn’t your job.’
He left the room without further comment.
‘No, don’t thank me,’ said Reynolds. He glanced across at Colley. ‘I’m sorry that this meeting did not provide you with as much humour as you might have liked. The good inspector is in a particularly foul mood, even for him.’
‘He’s about to go into a press conference,’ said Colley. He made to follow his boss out into the corridor. ‘Somehow, I don’t think that he is in the mood for laughing. I don’t think anyone is.’
‘Pity, in my experience, humour does so provide salve for the soul,’ said Reynolds. ‘Don’t you find, Sergeant?’
Colley glanced back at the body on the slab.
‘Not really,’ he said.


Chapter six
An hour later, Blizzard hesitated with