“Go on Miss Jones,” Smith ignored him.
“One night, Frank said he would be working late and my sister became ill. I phoned his office to tell Frank I would be at my sister’s but the woman on the switchboard said that Frank had already left for the day.”
“What did Frank say about that?”
“He said the switchboard woman didn’t know her arse from her elbow so I let it go.”
“But you sensed that something was wrong?”
“Frank started to change,” Roxy Jones was becoming agitated.
“In what way?” Smith said.
“He became a different person,” she said, “he became quite childish; started to listen to new music. At first I hoped it was just a phase, a mid life crisis kind of thing but it carried on for some time. One evening I had had enough so I followed him from his office.”
“You followed him?” Whitton said.
“It’s not a crime to follow your boyfriend is it?”
“No,” Smith said, “what happened?”
“He got in his car,” Roxy Jones began, “and drove to where this Cowley tart stays. I followed him there.”
“What did you do then”?
“Nothing. I just watched as some young woman opened the door and let Frank in. I knew what was going on but I was devastated anyway. Then I got angry. The bastard had been lying to me; he had been cheating on me. I went back to the girl’s house the next day.”
“What were you planning to do?” Smith asked.
“What do you think?” Roxy Jones said, “I was going to confront the bitch and tell her to leave my man alone.” She was becoming quite flustered.
“Calm down Miss Jones,” Atkins said.
“Did you confront Miss Cowley?” Smith asked.
“I didn’t have to,” she replied, “as I was busy boiling up in the car, the front door to the house opened and a woman appeared. It was the same woman I had seen let Frank into the house.”
“Then what?”
“Then I saw red. I got out of the car and approached her. I think I called her every name under the sun but she just stood there aghast. She said that she didn’t know what I was talking about and that she already had a boyfriend.”
“Susan Jenkins?” Whitton suggested.
“Yes,” Roxy Jones said, “that was how I met Susan and considering what I had just called her, she seemed quite calm. She was very kind; she suggested we go and get a drink somewhere so I could calm down and it was then she told me everything.”
“What did she tell you?” Smith asked.
“She told me that Frank and this Lauren had been seeing each other for a few months. I work away from home a lot and he had been seeing her while I was away.”
“How did you find out Lauren was pregnant?” Smith asked.
Roxy Jones’ face changed. She looked exhausted.
“Susan told me,” She said, “she found the pregnancy test in the bathroom.”
Smith decided to go for broke.
“You can’t have children can you Miss Jones?” he said.
“Sergeant!” Atkins shouted, “This is highly inappropriate.”
“It’s ok,” she said.
Her whole demeanour had changed.
“I’m finished,” she said, “I can’t take much more.”
“I’m requesting a break,” Atkins insisted.
“Let me finish,” Roxy Jones said.
“Carry on,” Smith said. He was keen to keep the momentum going.
“It all got out of control very quickly,” she continued, “I became quite friendly with Susan Jenkins despite the difference in our age. I suppose it’s because I paid for everything; Susan and Mick were always broke. Susan was always talking about going to somewhere nice for a holiday. She had only been abroad once.”
“To Tenerife maybe?” Smith suggested.
“Yes, and she said she would love to back there one day. One night after a few drinks I came up with a plan. On hindsight it was the most stupid thing I have ever done but I lost all sight of reason. Some young slut was having Frank’s baby. That’s when I concocted the suicide plan. Susan would get Lauren to drink the laced wine and then Mick would smother her with a pillow. In return, I would give them enough money to have a holiday in Tenerife.”
“You’re not helping yourself Miss Jones,” Atkins said.
“Shut up!” she shouted, “just shut up.”
“And Susan and Mick just went along with the whole thing?” Whitton asked.
“Not at first,” Roxy Jones said, “but once I’d convinced them that the plan was flawless, nobody would ever find out, they did what I asked. I even wrote a note.”
“I AM SO SORRY MARTIN,” Smith quoted, “Why Martin?”
“At the time, it seemed like a brilliant idea; the Police would look in a completely different direction. That is until the idiot decided to try and slaughter Wendy and Penny. That was definitely not part of the plan.”
“And the trip to Tenerife?” Smith asked.
“When Frank decided it was a great idea to confess to being the father of the baby and let you search our house I decided that things were getting out of control so I went to make sure Mick and Susan kept their mouths shut.”
“And you found out that Susan Jenkins was getting cold feet?”
“She was a wreck.”
“So you paid Hogg to shut her up?”
“I had to; I didn’t know what else to do. What will happen to me Sergeant?”
Roxy Jones looked almost relieved.
“You’ll be charged with two counts of being an accessory to murder,” Smith said.
“This is unbelievable,” Atkins snorted. He stood up.
“Get out,” Roxy Jones said to him, “you old fossil, you’re fired.”
Atkins muttered something under his breath about his fee and left the room.
“One more thing,” Smith said, “On Christmas Eve, we have a taxi driver who claims that after he dropped the Willows off, he came back to your house twice; once to pick up a young woman and then again to fetch a man.”
Roxy Jones seemed confused.
“He only came back once,” she said, “Once the Willows had left I phoned Susan and told her to wait outside my house for a taxi to take her home. I thought it would not seem odd that Susan caught a taxi back to her own house.”
Smith rubbed his temples.
“Maybe the driver was mistaken,” he said, “Thank you Miss Jones, you’ve done the right thing. I’m afraid we’re going to have to charge you and then it’s out of our hands.”
“What about Hogg?” Roxy Jones asked.
“He’ll be charged too,” Smith said, “on the same two counts.”
“That went much better than I’d anticipated,” Smith said as he slurped a coffee in the canteen.
“You pushed the right buttons sir,” Whitton laughed, “us females can be slightly over emotional some times.”
“You women are bloody scary,” he laughed, “a woman scorned and all that. Do me a favour Whitton. Find Thompson and tell him he can tear up Hogg’s statement; I don’t think we’ll be needing it.”
“Do you still think Martin Willow is innocent sir?”
“Yes I do; there’s something just not quite right about it but it looks like he’s the only suspect at the moment.”
“So what now?”
“We go home and get a bit of rest. Two murders have been cleared up; that’ll satisfy the Super for the time being. I’ve got a few things I need to sort out at home. I need to clean up the mess those bastards left and I need to fetch Theakston from the pub. There’s one thing you can help me with though if you’ve got time.”
Whitton laughed.
“I’ve got all the time in the world,” she said, “You should know that, I’m a real sad case. What is it?”
“Help me find the people who stole my guitar.”
“They took the Fender?”
“Looks like it.”
“Then we�
��ll find it, there can’t be many guitars like that around.”
“Thanks Whitton.”
“You’re forgetting something sir,” Whitton said nervously.
“What’s that?”
“That guy who gave me his card at New Year.”
“Whitey?”
“That’s him. Aren’t you going to contact him? He said he would only be in the country for a few weeks.”
Smith’s expression changed. His eyes were open but they did not seem to see anything; they were staring far in the distance.
“That, I’ll have to think about,” he said finally, “now go home and get some rest.”
FORTY ONE
THE TRIAL
Wednesday 20 July 2005
“All rise,” the official of the court ordered, “the honourable Judge Briggs presiding.”
The people in the courtroom all stood as Judge Briggs entered the room.
“Please sit down,” he said in a voice that belied his appearance.
Judge Nelson Briggs was a judge of twenty years. He was a bear of a man with an impressive walrus moustache that had taken him years to grow. His mere presence demanded respect but, unfortunately when he opened his mouth and spoke in his broad Tyneside accent, his air of dignity disappeared.
“The court is now in session,” the official announced, “the people versus Vera Mae Lin on the charge of manslaughter.”
“Mrs Vera Mae Lin,” Judge Briggs began, “you are accused of manslaughter, and please stand up while you are on the stand. You are charged with causing the death of Jonathan Passman on the fifteenth of March of this year. How do you plead?”
“It was an accident,” Mae Lin squeaked.
“Please speak up,” Judge Briggs said.
“It was an accident,” Mae Lin repeated, louder this time.
“Do you plead not guilty or not guilty?” Judge Briggs sighed, “And please address me as your honour; it sounds much more professional on the transcript.”
The courtroom was filled with low chuckling.
“Not guilty, your honour,” Mae Lin said.
“Good,” Judge Briggs said, “at least we can begin now. Prosecution, I think it’s customary for you to go first.”
“Sorry your honour,” a tall thin man stood up
He quickly filed through some pieces of paper and put them down.
“Mrs Vera Mae Lin,” he began, “could you please recount to the court the events of Tuesday the fifteenth of March this year.”
“I was at work,” she said, “I was working the afternoon shift.”
“Your place of employment was Smiley’s Pizzas in the town centre?”
“Yes, it was very quiet at the front of the shop so I was busy preparing the dough for the evening shift. They have an all you can eat Tuesday special which is very popular, especially with the students.”
“You were preparing dough in the back?”
“That’s right.”
“What happened next?”
“My boss came through to the kitchen and told me there was a man waiting to be served in the front of the shop.”
“Your boss was Jonathan Passman, is that correct?”
“Yes, he was very rude. He accused me of skiving and said I should be serving customers not hiding away in the back.”
“What did you do then?”
“I took the customer’s order, told him how long it would take and took the order to the pizza chef.”
“Carry on Mrs Lin.”
“The pizza chef was on a break so I decided to make the pizza myself.”
“Is that normal practice?”
“Not really but I’d done it before. We all try and help where we can. I rolled the dough and was preparing the topping when Mr Passman came in.”
“What did he do?”
“He was very angry. He swore at me and called me names.”
“What kind of names?”
“Nasty names.” Mae Lin began to shake.
“Take your time Mrs Mae Lin,” the prosecutor said.
“He called me a slanty eyed bitch,” she said.
There were gasps in the courtroom.
“What happened next?” the prosecutor asked.
“I’d had enough,” Mae Lin replied, “it wasn’t the first time he had been rude to me.”
“What did you do?”
“I was very angry. I told him I was leaving, threw the pizza on the floor and told him to make the pizza himself. Then I tried to leave.”
“What did Mr Passman do then?”
“He grabbed me by the arm and he said…”
Mae Lin paused.
“Can I repeat what he said? It’s not very nice.”
“Go on,” urged the prosecutor.
“He said make the fucking pizza you yellow skinned whore.”
The courtroom erupted.
“Order,” Judge Briggs shouted, “Order. Carry on Mrs Mae Lin.”
“He still had hold of my arm,” she continued, “I was scared. I picked up the chopping board with my other hand and hit him in the face with it. He let go and fell to the floor.”
“What did you do then,” the prosecutor said, “did you run?”
Mae Lin was silent.
“Mrs Mae Lin,” the prosecutor desperately wanted to keep the momentum going. “Did you run?” he repeated.
“No,” she said meekly,” I didn’t run. I was very upset. He was about to get up so I hit him again, harder this time. I was scared.”
“And you hit him again didn’t you?” the prosecutor said, “and then you hit him once more. In fact, isn’t it true that you just kept on hitting him? Even when he showed no more signs of life. You literally knocked the living shit out of him.”
“Objection, your honour,” a voice was heard from the defence.
“Withdrawn,” the prosecutor quickly said, “I have nothing further.”
“All this talk of pizza is making me hungry,” Judge Briggs said, “we’ll carry on after lunch, and I’ll have no more foul language in my courtroom. Is that understood?”
“Court adjourned,” the official said, “all rise.”
FORTY TWO
ME AND THE DEVIL BLUES
Sunday 3 January 2009
Jason Smith sighed as he surveyed the carnage in his living room again. The CDs were still scattered all over the floor. Luckily these bastards had crap taste in music, he thought as he collected the CDs together. They all seemed accounted for. There was an empty space on the cabinet where the television once stood but, apart from the TV and his guitar, nothing else seemed to be missing. He boiled the kettle. While he waited for it to boil, he checked the rooms upstairs. Draws had been left open in one of the rooms and clothes were strewn on the floor but nothing seemed to be missing there either. He checked the room where his Gran used to sleep. His heart sank when he noticed that the old bureau opposite the bed had been prised open. He quickly looked inside and saw that his Gran’s jewellery box was gone. He took out his phone and dialled Whitton’s number.
“Whitton,” he said, “do you feel like going shopping tomorrow?”
“Shopping sir?” she said,
“Yes, shopping. We’ve both got a couple of days off. I want to check every pawn shop in York; they took my Gran’s rings and my Grandfather’s watch.”
“Shopping it is then,” she said, “I’ll be at your house at nine.”
There was a knock on the front door. Smith quickly ran downstairs and opened it. Dave, the taxi driver was standing there with Theakston in his arms. The puppy was really starting to get fat.
“Delivery from Marge,” Dave beamed, “she thought she would save you a trip and I was coming this way home anyway.”
Dave put Theakston down and he trudged up to Smith and jumped at his legs.
“Thanks Dave,” Smith said, “how much do I owe you?”
“Nothing Mr Smith,” Dave insisted, “Like I said, I was coming this way anyway.”
Smith suddenly thought of
something he needed to ask Dave but quickly forgot as Theakston started to sniff at his empty food bowl.
“Thanks again Dave,” he said.
“Any time,” Dave said, “goodbye Mr Smith, enjoy your evening.”
Smith closed the door and went to the kitchen to make the coffee. He put some food in Theakston’s bowl and the puppy ate greedily. Smith looked at the clock on the microwave. 19.40. He piled four heaped teaspoons of coffee into the cup.
“I’m not going to sleep much tonight anyway boy,” he said to Theakston.
The puppy had emptied the bowl of food and was begging for more. Smith smiled and put one more cup of food in the bowl.
“As of tomorrow boy,” he said, “you’re on a diet and a strict exercise routine.”
Smith took the coffee through to the living room and placed it on the table. He selected a Robert Johnson CD, put it in the machine and pressed play. ‘Me and the Devil Blues’ meandered out of the speakers. Theakston raced into the room and tried to jump onto the couch. He almost made it. He rebounded off the side and landed flat on his back. Smith laughed, picked him up and sat with him on the couch. He crawled on Smith’s stomach and made himself comfortable. Robert Johnson’s woeful voice sang out, ‘You may bury my body, down by the highway side, so my old evil spirit can get on a greyhound bus and ride.’
Within seconds both Smith and Theakston were asleep.
Smith woke to a dog barking. Theakston was barking at the coffee table. Smith’s phone was vibrating and moving itself around on the table. Theakston was trying to catch it; he thought it was a great game. Smith rubbed his eyes and picked up the phone. It was Whitton. He answered it.
“Are you alright sir?” Whitton asked, “I’m standing outside your house, the curtains are drawn and the lights are on.”
Smith looked at the clock on the wall.
“I’ve never felt better,” he said, “I’ve just slept for thirteen hours. The doors open, you can let yourself in.”
“Did you sleep in your clothes sir?” Whitton said as she walked in.
“I fell asleep on the couch,” Smith replied, “me and this fat fella slept here the whole night. Do you want some coffee?”
The York Trilogy: The First 3 DS Jason Smith Detective novels Page 18
