The Name on the Bullet

THE NAME ON THE BULLET Totally gripping detective fiction John Dean Published by THE BOOK FOLKS London, 2023 © John Dean Polite note to the reader This book is written in British English except where fidelity to other languages or accents is appropriate. You are invited to visit www.thebookfolks.com and sign up to our mailing list to hear about new releases, free book promotions and other special offers. We hope you enjoy the book. The Name on the Bullet is the eleventh standalone novel in the DCI John Blizzard series by John Dean. The full list of books is as follows: The Long Dead Strange Little Girl The Railway Man The Secrets Man A Breach of Trust Death List A Flicker in the Night The Latch Man No Age to Die The Vengeance Man The Name on the Bullet More details about these books can be found at the end of this one. Table of Contents Chapter one Chapter two Chapter three Chapter four Chapter five Chapter six Chapter seven Chapter eight Chapter nine Chapter ten Chapter eleven Chapter twelve Chapter thirteen Chapter fourteen Chapter fifteen Chapter sixteen Chapter seventeen Chapter eighteen Chapter nineteen Chapter twenty Chapter twenty-one Chapter twenty-two Chapter twenty-three Chapter twenty-four Chapter twenty-five Chapter twenty-six Chapter twenty-seven Chapter twenty-eight Chapter twenty-nine Chapter thirty Chapter thirty-one Epilogue List of Characters Also featuring DCI John Blizzard More fiction by John Dean Other titles of interest Free books in your inbox Chapter one The first glimmer of daylight was beginning to streak the sky above the northern city of Hafton as the police vehicles rolled along the quiet suburban road. The convoy, comprising a van, a minibus and an unmarked car, travelled slowly past the neatly kept semi-detached houses that stood in darkness along Rivermead Avenue, their occupants asleep and oblivious to what was about to happen. The vehicles came to a halt halfway down the road, where the minibus disgorged its cargo of officers, most of whom wore protective helmets and body armour. A tall, lean, clean-cut, short-haired man in plainclothes alighted from the passenger seat of the lead minibus and pointed to a semi-detached house. ‘Number twenty-four,’ he said in a low voice. ‘The one with the green door. Whenever you’re ready.’ ‘Seems a pity to ruin their sleep,’ said one of the officers. He gave a broad grin. ‘Still, mustn’t grumble. God, I love my job!’ Detective Sergeant Alan Steele gave a slight smile. ‘Go on then, play nice,’ he said. The sergeant glanced at the cameraman who was standing nearby. ‘They’re going in now. You ready?’ Bob Harrold nodded, shouldered his camera and followed the police team as it moved quickly into position with an efficiency built up over many such raids. Within seconds, following a shouted warning, one of the officers had used the hydraulic ram to smash through the front door and, amid a splintering of timber and more hollered warnings, his colleagues barged their way into the property. Within a few moments, the officers had thundered up the stairs and dragged two bewildered-looking young men from their beds, taking them downstairs and outside to the waiting van. The whole operation had been carried out so rapidly that the vehicle’s rear doors had been slammed shut by the time lights in nearby houses started to be switched on, curtains began to twitch, and the people of Rivermead Avenue realised what had happened. Back inside number twenty-four, the plainclothes officer moved from room to room, watching in satisfaction at the growing number of finds which officers were bringing down to be placed on the kitchen table. Eventually, with the search at an end, the table was piled high with plastic bags containing pills and bundles of banknotes. ‘An excellent haul,’ said Steele. ‘The best yet.’ He glanced at the cameraman. ‘Do you want me to do a piece to camera?’ ‘Yeah, go on.’ ‘Do I look OK?’ asked Steele. He ran a hand through his wavy brown hair. ‘You’ll do,’ said the cameraman. Steele gave his hair a final pat, checked that his tie was properly done up then gave himself a few moments to compose himself, stared into the camera and started talking with a fluency and confidence that came with more than a year of featuring in similar events. ‘There must be the thick end of a thousand tablets here,’ he said, gesturing to the table. ‘And thanks to this morning’s operation, they won’t be going anyway near the city’s young people. It just goes to show the importance of initiatives like Operation Javelin. Residents of areas like Rivermead Avenue should not have their lives blighted by drug dealers and operations like the one this morning just go to show that if people give us information about drug dealers, we will act.’ He looked at the cameraman. ‘OK?’ he said. ‘As ever,’ said the cameraman. * * * A week later, Detective Superintendent Arthur Ronald listened to the sergeant’s words to camera, gave an approving nod, picked the television remote control up off his desk and tapped the pause button, reducing Alan Steele to a shimmering image. The superintendent looked across the desk at Detective Chief Inspector John Blizzard. ‘You have to admit it, John,’ he said, ‘we come out of this looking pretty good – despite your misgivings.’ It was just before 6pm and the two men were sitting in the superintendent’s office at Abbey Road Police Station, sipping from mugs of tea as they watched the advance cut of the opening episode of the new series of the reality show Arrested! Community Fightback, which was due to be screened the following week. ‘What’s more, the chief will be delighted,’ added Ronald. ‘It’s all on-message.’ ‘On-message!’ snorted Blizzard. He had always struggled with force jargon. ‘Only if the message you want to convey is corny.’ ‘Maybe it is corny,’ said Ronald. ‘But it’s what the public wants to hear. The police working with the community to lock up drug dealers.’ ‘Yes, well,