The York Trilogy: The First 3 DS Jason Smith Detective novels

by Stewart Giles

  Martin dropped a handful of coins onto the floor of the taxi. He was seeing double. The whisky had finally overtaken him. He picked up the coins one by one and paid the driver. “Don’t be silly,” he said, “why would there be someone in the house?”

  “I’m sure I saw something move upstairs, behind the curtains.” She sounded terrified.

  “Too much wine,” he tried to reassure her, “I can see two houses at the moment. You’re going to have to direct me to ours.”

  They watched as the taxi drove off.

  “You go in first,” Wendy ordered.

  “Ok,” Martin said, “if it’ll make you feel better.”

  Drunk as he was, Martin remembered the feeling of unease he had when they had left earlier that evening. Had he locked the front door? He put the key in the lock. It did not turn. The door was unlocked. He felt a burning in his stomach. Cautiously, he opened the door and looked inside. He sighed.

  “Everything seems to be fine,” he said, “come inside, you’re getting soaked.”

  “Bedtime Penny,” Martin said when they were inside “Christmas Day tomorrow.”

  “Shouldn’t you check upstairs first?” Wendy suggested, “I’m sure I saw something up there.”

  Martin shrugged. “If you insist.” he said.

  He stumbled up the stairs. He checked the rooms carefully, one by one.

  “Nothing amiss,” he called down and started to walk back down. He had to hold on to the rail tightly to stay upright.

  “I’ll make us some coffee,” Wendy said, “Did you lock the door?”

  He sat on the bottom step and fumbled in his pocket for his keys.

  Wendy screamed.

  “There was a face at the window!” she cried.

  Her face was white. Martin Willow heard the scream and saw Wendy’s mouth move but could not decipher that words that came out.

  “Martin, there’s someone behind the door!” Wendy called out, louder this time.

  Martin Willow’s vision began to blur. He was vaguely aware of more screams but he was drifting between greyness and blackness. He saw the front door open, tried to get up but his limbs were paralysed. That was when the blackness prevailed.

  “Martin!” Wendy screamed but Martin could no longer hear her. She turned to face the man in the doorway. He had a dark green balaclava over his head and face but he seemed familiar. In his hand he held a hammer, a claw type hammer. Wendy tried to speak but the words did not come out. She suddenly felt dizzy. The man in the doorway did not move. She looked at his eyes through the slits in the balaclava. They were staring straight ahead and they did not blink. That was when she realised who it was. Behind her, Penny had crawled under the coffee table and Wendy could hear her soft whimpering as though it was being played over a loudspeaker. Her vision was coming in waves of colour and black and white. The man approached her with the hammer held over his head. As he brought it down on the top of her head, Wendy did not even have the strength to lift up her arms to defend herself. She saw a flash of white and felt the force of the blow spread from the crown of her head, down her cheeks and into her teeth. She was aware of herself falling to the ground, felt another blow, this time to the front of the face and then she felt nothing more.

  Penny tried to crawl further under the coffee table but there was nowhere left to go. She had covered her ears with her hands and now she slowly took them away. The horrible noises had stopped. She looked over to where her mother had been and saw a man leaning over her on the floor. He was shaking. She watched as he took off his balaclava and placed it in his pocket. She gasped as she saw his face. He walked over to where she hid and bent down so his face was almost level with the top of the table.

  “Come out princess,” he said in an almost friendly tone, “I’m afraid your Daddy took something from me, something very precious and I’m just taking the same from him.”

  Penny did not move. She looked over to where her father was slumped at the bottom of the stairs.

  “Don’t worry about him sweetheart,” the man said, “It looks like this is going to be easier than I thought and I’m not going to hurt him. Not physically anyway.”

  TWO

  TAKEN

  Sunday 29 November 1998 Fremantle Australia

  “Another beautiful day in Paradise,” Jason Smith sang as he barged into his sister’s room.

  “It’s the middle of the night, you Loon,” she mumbled, “what time is it anyway?”

  “Almost dawn,” Smith said, “if you want to catch the good ones you’ve got to make a few sacrifices. The early dude catches the surf and all that. Come on, you’ve got five minutes, I’ll get the boards.”

  While he waited for his sister, Jason quietly poured himself a glass of milk in the kitchen. He did not want to wake his mother and her new ‘friend’. He sighed as he scanned the mess around him. There were four empty wine bottles on the counter and another one on the floor. The ashtray was full of cigarette butts and some that were obviously not normal cigarettes. His mother would not be getting up any time soon. This new friend of hers seemed slightly better than the previous string of gold-diggers who were after the money his father had left when he died, but not that much better. Jason decided that this was going to stop, he had had enough. After the surfing lesson. That was when he and Laura were going to sit down with their mother and tell her this kind of behaviour was not acceptable. Both he and Laura were humiliated at school because of their mother’s tendencies. “What’s it like to have two mothers?” was the latest one. Laura had cried herself to sleep after that one.

  Jason Smith’s eight year old sister Laura, sighed, rubbed her eyes and got ready for their early morning adventure. Jason had promised to show her the fine art of surfing. She had swum in the ocean many times but this was going to be her first time trying to catch a wave.

  Seven minutes later, Jason had packed the boards into the back of the Pickup, climbed in the driver’s side and, with his little sister sitting nervously beside him he pushed down the handbrake, knocked the Pickup out of gear and coasted down the driveway. Jason was sixteen and not legally allowed to drive in Western Australia.

  “Why don’t you switch the engine on?” Laura asked.

  “I will,” he replied, “I just don’t want to wake the neighbours. This thing makes a bit of a din. I’ll wait until we get around Keeling and on to the South Beach Promenade.”

  As they left Hollis Park behind them, Jason turned the key in the ignition, put the Pickup into second and cruised down the Promenade. He had been driving since he was fourteen and considered himself a reasonable driver. He turned left onto Ocean Road and scanned the Ocean ahead of them.

  “Look at that Sis!” he bellowed, “A perfect day to learn to surf.”

  Laura smiled apprehensively.

  Jason parked the Pickup as close to the beach as possible. He looked down over the Indian Ocean; there were a couple of likeminded early birds already in the water but apart from them, they had the place pretty much to themselves. He did not see the white van arrive at the car park and stop beside his father’s pick up.

  “Grab your board,” he said to his sister, “I learned everything I know on that baby.”

  Although she was tall for her age, Laura struggled with the heavy board.

  “If you have to drop it,” Jason warned her, “just don’t drop it on the fin ok?”

  Determined, Laura gripped the board tightly and walked ahead on the path to the beach. That’s my sis, Jason thought as he quickly caught her up.

  As they reached the sand, Jason quickly realised the conditions were perfect to teach Laura how to surf; the swells were relatively low and long enough so Laura could get the feel of them quite easily. With the cumbersome board under her arm, Laura broke into a trot towards the ocean.

  “Hey!” Jason called after her, “where do you think you’re going?”

  “I thought we were going surfing,” she cried back.

  “You don’t just stick a board i
n the water, get on it and turn into Barton Lynch,” he laughed, “we need to practice a bit on the beach first ok?”

  “Ok,” she sighed, “what do we do first?”

  “Lie on the board on the sand. I doubt you’ll be standing up much on your first day, but if the need does arise, I’ll show you exactly how to get up quickly and where to stand to keep your centre of gravity right.”

  “It can’t be that technical,” she argued, “most of the surfers I’ve seen are real numbskulls.”

  Jason ignored her. “Watch me,” he said.

  He lay on the board and adroitly sprang to his feet in one swift movement.

  “Now you try it,” he said.

  Laura copied her brother almost perfectly.

  “Not bad,” he admitted, “but move your feet further apart and you need to be further forward. Otherwise the board will flip up.”

  Laura tried again.

  “Good,” Jason smiled. His sister was a natural. “Now stand there and I’m going to turn the board slowly from side to side. You need to be able to balance properly.”

  “Piece of cake,” she cried.

  He sat behind her and tilted the board slightly. Laura moved her weight accordingly.

  “Your balance is good,” he said with pride.

  After a few minutes of doing this, he yanked the board up and Laura flew off and rolled onto the beach. She screamed.

  “Grab the board,” Jason said, “you need to wash the sand off yourself. Let’s go surfing.”

  He picked up his board and waited until Laura had brushed herself down. Together they ran towards the ocean.

  “Ok,” he said, “put the leash round your ankle and see if you can paddle out.”

  Laura attached the Velcro around her ankle, dropped the board and began to paddle out.

  “Right,” Jason said, “we’ll paddle out to where the waves are forming. Push the nose down into the breakers otherwise they’ll flip you over.”

  Jason suddenly recognised one of the other surfers in the water. Her name was Lucy McLean and she was a year older than him. He had had a crush on Lucy McLean since his early teens. She was a very good surfer. Jason pretended not to have noticed her.

  “Go out further to the left,” he told his sister.

  He wanted to put a bit of distance between himself and Lucy. They reached a good spot where the surf was forming.

  “Ok,” he said, “ready? When I say so, turn the board round and paddle with the wave. For the first few times I reckon you just lie on the board to get the feel of it.” He was talking to himself. “Here comes a nice one.”

  Laura smiled. “You’re the boss,” she said.

  She turned as the wave nudged her and paddled with all her strength. As she felt she was at full speed, she tried to spring up on the board but landed too far to the left and merely pushed the board out from under her. She fell backwards into the surf and for a moment was deafened by the waves crashing over her. She surfaced, reclaimed her board and smiled at her brother.

  “Wipe out!” she cried with delight.

  Jason paddled over to her.

  “Technically,” he said, “that doesn’t qualify as a wipe out as you never really got up in the first place did you? Are you ready to quit yet?”

  “Never,” she replied defiantly, “I think I know what to do now.”

  After a dozen or more ‘wipe outs’, a resounding cry could be heard all over the beach.

  “I did it,” she said.

  Laura was up, she was staying up and she was surfing. Nothing could wipe the smile from her brother’s face. He surfed the wave behind Laura’s, ran up to her on the beach and put his arms around her.

  “I’m proud of you sis,” he said. Her eyes were sparkling.

  “I’m going to try that again,” she said, “that was awesome.”

  The moment was cut short by a familiar voice from across the beach.

  “Surfing the baby waves now are you loser?”

  Jason sighed. He knew that voice. David White or Whitey as he was known was two years older than Jason and a really nasty piece of work.

  “I’m talking to you Smith Shit,” Whitey sneered.

  Jason looked around. Whitey was walking towards him with a boy he did not know and, of all people, Lucy McLean. He panicked. What did they want?

  “Real waves scare you do they Smith Shit?” Whitey carried on, “and who’s that?”

  He pointed to Laura, “New girlfriend? She looks a bit on the young side if you ask me.”

  “That’s his sister you moron,” Lucy McLean interrupted, “can’t you see he’s teaching her how to surf?”

  Lucy smiled at Jason.

  “Is this your first lesson?” she asked Laura.

  “First time,” Laura said, “and I’m going back out there again in a minute.”

  “Good for you sweetie,” Lucy smiled. “You carry on practicing.”

  “I hate to break up this happy family stuff,” Whitey said, “but I’m here to surf some proper waves round by the point. These waves are for little girls,” He laughed at his own joke. No-one else did.

  “Do you think you can surf a man’s wave Smith Shit? Or has that Lesbo mother of yours made you soft?” Whitey asked.

  Jason wanted to hit him as hard as he could.

  “Of course I can,” he replied, “and stop calling me Smith Shit.”

  “Ok Smith Shit,” Whitey laughed, “if you can surf the proper waves round the point, I won’t call you Smith Shit again. Deal?”

  “Deal,” Smith said, “but what about my sister?”

  “She can watch. She can see how a real man surfs.”

  The breakers around the point were no super-tubes but they were challenging waves nevertheless. Jason had surfed them before but he was still wary.

  “You stay on the beach Laura,” he said as he got ready to paddle out.

  “I’m not a baby Jason,” she protested, “I can surf now; I’ll just paddle around by the shore.”

  “Ok. Not too far out though.”

  Laura smiled. “You show that idiot how it’s done,” she said.

  “Come on Smith Shit,” Whitey said, “or do we have to call you Smith Chicken Shit from now on?” He beamed as if he had made a huge joke.

  They paddled and paddled. Smith had forgotten how far you had to go to catch a wave here. Lucy McLean and the other boy stopped half way for a rest but Smith was determined to carry on. When they were almost there, he turned round to see where Laura was. He smiled as he saw her bobbing up and down by the shore. She’s a good kid, he thought.

  “Are you ready for this Smith Shit?” Whitey asked.

  “I was born ready,” Smith replied, “and after this no more Smith Shit ok?”

  “Deal. You go first.”

  Jason turned and started to paddle. As he was about to spring up he caught a glimpse of Laura. She seemed to be a bit further out now. There was a man on the beach who had not been there earlier. He jumped up on the board, steadied himself and concentrated on the wave. He looked towards the shore. About a hundred metres offshore from Laura Smith thought he could see something. It looked like the dorsal fin of a shark. He gasped. He lost his balance and before he could scream out a warning to his sister, he was screaming under water. The momentum of the wave had spun him round and around. He felt a smack on the head as his board hit him. He blacked out for a second or two and when he surfaced he heard the words, “Ha, so it is Smith Chicken Shit now.”

  Again, Smith looked over to where his sister had been. There was no sign of the shark. Nevertheless, he screamed to Laura to get out of the water. Lucy and the other boy had decided to head back to the shore. At that moment, Smith heard the words that would haunt him for the rest of his life.

  “Shark!” somebody shouted, “Shark! The bloody thing has attacked the kid.”

  Lucy and the boy were running towards Laura, or where Laura had been. Jason looked for his sister in the water as he frantically paddled towards the shore. He
saw nothing. As he reached the shallower water, he ran over to where Laura was last seen. Her board bobbed about in the surf but Laura was gone.

  THREE

  COMA.

  Saturday 7 February 2009. York.

  “The sun’s trying to come out,” Nurse Sarah Marshall cried, “look out of the window.”

  It had been the gloomiest winter in York since many people could remember; not cold, just grey with a permanent tedious drizzle in the air.

  “They’ve decided on a date,” Sister Jo Bennett sighed as she looked outside, “they’re going to switch the machine off in six days. The poor kid hasn’t so much as twitched her nose since they brought her in over a month ago.”

  In twenty years, Jo Bennett had seen it all; shootings, stabbings, even a beheading but this child had really shaken her.

  “Such a pretty little thing too,” Nurse Marshall added, “looks just like her mother from the pictures in the paper.”

  “They’ll be meeting up soon enough,” a husky voice announced the arrival of Doctor Pete Simmons. “Unless that little heart of hers decides otherwise,” he added.

  Pete Simmons was a seasoned doctor on the verge of retirement whose bedside manner was reserved strictly for the unconscious and the deceased.

  “Don’t be so blunt Pete,” Sister Bennett protested, “maybe she can hear you.”

  “She doesn’t even know she’s alive my dear,” Simmons said, “That father of her did a really good job on her.”

  “We’ve still got four days and he still claims he didn’t do it.”

  “Of course he does,” Simmons snorted, “they all do don’t they? Well, that’s me finished for the day; I’m off to practice for my retirement. That’s if this bloody weather lets me.”

  “What did he mean by that?” Nurse Marshall asked.

  “Golf,” Sister Bennett said, “silly game if you ask me.”

  “No, the bit about the father.”