“I don’t know,” Smith said, “I’ve never been married remember. Enlighten me.”
“Fear,” Thompson said. “Fear, that’s what. Show me any married man over the age of forty who isn’t terrified of his wife. That’s just the way it’s supposed to be I reckon. What were you doing at the hospital?”
“Penny Willow woke up.”
“She woke up?” Thompson exclaimed, “I thought she was a goner.”
“Everybody did. The Doctor said it was a miracle. He thought she might be able to tell us something.”
“Did she?”
“Not really,” Smith said, “it’s clear that Martin Willow was wrongly convicted though. She kept going on about a man and a song.”
“What song?”
“I don’t know, she was very vague. What time is your wife fetching you?”
“I’ve got half an hour of freedom left,” Thompson sighed. He parked the car outside Smith’s house.
“Fancy a beer?” Smith said when they got inside.
“I’d better not,” Thompson replied, “she’ll smell it and it’ll only give her more ammunition to fire at me.”
Smith took a beer from the fridge.
“I’d like to say its been fun,” he said, “but I’d be lying. Are you going to be alright?”
“My wife’s not violent,” Thompson said, “she just has a bit of a moan every now and then. I suppose she’s not as bad as I make her out to be.”
“Good luck Thompson,” Smith shook his hand.
“Does this mean we’re friends?” Thompson asked.
“No,” Smith said immediately.
“Good. She’s here. I’ll see you at work.”
“Peace at last boy,” Smith said to Theakston, “what do you feel like doing today?” There was nothing much of any importance waiting for him at work; a couple of break ins and a mugging in the city centre but Palmer had offered to work on those. Smith decided he needed to do a spot of bridge building. In the past few weeks in his drunken stupor he had distanced himself from everybody and he had upset quite a few people in the process. He decided to kill two birds with one stone. He took out his phone and dialled Whitton’s number. It was engaged. He tried again.
“Sir,” Whitton answered. She sounded irate.
“What are you up to?” Smith asked.
“I’m getting my hair done,” she said.
“That’s the oldest one in the book,” Smith said.
“No really, I am getting my hair done. I’m going to a wedding tomorrow.”
“In February?”
“Some people get married in February,” Whitton was getting annoyed. “Besides, it’s Valentines Day. What do you want?” she said.
“I’m sorry Whitton,” Smith said, “I want to take you out for a drink.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea.”
“Come on. I need to apologise to Marge.”
“I’ll meet you at the Hog’s Head in an hour. I’m nearly finished here anyway.”
“Thanks Whitton.” He rang off.
Smith decided he would get to the pub first for once. He picked up Theakston and immediately put him down.
“You can walk to the car,” he said, “you fat little bugger.”
Theakston was getting heavy. Smith stopped of at a florist on the way and bought two bouquets of flowers. It’s a start, he thought. He arrived at the Hog’s head half an hour early. It was fairly quiet. Marge was washing glasses behind the bar. Smith handed her the flowers.
“I’m sorry Marge,” he said, “I lost the plot for a while there.”
“I’m sure you had your reasons,” she said, “I’ll put these in water. I hope those are for Erica.” She pointed to the other bunch of flowers. “She has done nothing but try to care for you and you’ve been downright nasty to her.”
“She’ll be here just now,” Smith said, “can I have a pint please?”
Marge eyed him with suspicion.
“I’m sticking to beer from now on Marge,” he said, “it doesn’t make me so miserable.”
Marge poured him a pint.
“You can get me one of those as well.” It was Whitton.
Smith handed her the flowers.
“Sorry for being such an arsehole,” he said, “you look different.”
Marge sighed. “You’ve got a lot to learn,” she said to Smith, “when a lady has her hair done saying you look different is not what she wants to hear. Your hair looks beautiful dear. Special occasion?”
“Thanks Marge,” Whitton said, “I’m going to a wedding tomorrow.”
“In February?” Marge said.
“That’s what I said,” Smith said, “Could I get a bowl of water for Theakston please Marge?”
Theakston had wandered off and was now lying by the fire. Marge took the water and placed it on the floor next to him.
“Penny Willow woke up,” Smith said to Whitton.
“That’s fantastic news,” Whitton said.
Her green eyes were sparkling.
“I went to see her this morning; I think she knows who attacked her and her mother.”
“You mean it wasn’t her father?”
“I’m sure of it. The killer is still out there.”
“What did she say?”
“She kept going on about a man and a song. She remembers a man and a song that he played.”
“Where does that leave us?”
“I’m not sure,” Smith looked deep in thought. “There’s something that I can’t quite put my finger on but I’m sure it’ll come to me. Are we friends again?”
“Buy me another pint and I’ll think about it.”
“Deal,” Smith smiled.
“How’s it going with you and Thompson?” Whitton asked.
“He went back to his wife this morning,” Smith replied, “I think I might actually miss him; he’s not really that bad.”
“What happened to you in Tallinn?” Whitton said out of the blue, “you turned into a different person when you came back.”
“It’s something I never want to think about,” Smith said, “I’d prefer to forget the whole thing.”
“I’ll get it out of you one day,” Whitton smiled, “I have to go; I have a lot to organise before this wedding. I’ll see you at work on Monday.”
“Are we friends then?” Smith asked again.
“Of course,” she said, “you should know me by now.”
SEVENTY FOUR
VERA CHUCK AND DAVE
Saturday 14 February 2009
Smith woke with a start. He had been dreaming again but this was a completely different dream. This dream had had a soundtrack to it; a very corny soundtrack. He quickly got up and put on a T shirt and a pair of jeans. Theakston was awake and he looked at Smith as if he were crazy. Smith picked him up and carried him downstairs. His mind was running at a hundred miles an hour. What was the song in his dream and why was it so important? Coffee, he thought. That would help. As he waited for the kettle to boil he looked through his CD collection. He had the entire Beatles catalogue on CD. “Which album was that song from?” he said to Theakston as if he was expecting an answer.
He threw the CDs on the floor.
“Crap,” he said as he looked through them one by one.
He heard the click of the kettle and ran through to the kitchen. Theakston ran after him; he thought this was a great game.
“Think,” Smith said as he sat on the couch with his coffee, “think.”
He had checked the CDs with no luck. There must be one missing, he thought, maybe it was stolen in the burglary. He took out a piece of paper and listed the Beatles albums in chronological order. What was he missing? He took a sip of coffee and it came to him. There was a gap between Magical Mystery Tour and Let it Be, the best album of them all. He went back to the CDs on the shelf and there it was. The White Album. It was a collectors edition double CD so it did not fit in the CD rack. He put the first CD in the machine and put on track four. Ob la di o
b la da started to play. Smith listened to the whole song. He played it again. It was similar to the song in his dream but it was not the one.
“Shit, shit, shit, shit!” he said. Theakston immediately sat down and raised a paw in the air.
Smith laughed,
“I said shit,” he said, “but good boy anyway.”
Smith looked through the CDs again. As he was glancing through the track list of Sergeant Pepper he found it.
“When I’m sixty four,” he said.
He did not know why but that was the song. He put the CD into the machine and played the song. Theakston started to bark. Smith turned up the volume and carried the puppy to the kitchen. He opened the back door and let Theakston out. When Smith returned to the living room he heard it. Paul McCartney’s irritating voice was singing, ‘Grandchildren on my knee, Vera, Chuck and Dave’.
Smith put his boots on, grabbed his car keys and ran to the kitchen. He called Theakston inside and locked the back door. He picked up his phone and called Whitton’s number. It rang a few times but then he heard the voice mail message.
“Whitton,” he said, “phone me as soon as you get this.”
He tried again. Voice mail again. He opened the car door, put Theakston on the passenger seat and set off for the station. It was a distance Smith normally covered in fifteen minutes but today he made it in just over seven. He parked the car badly, picked Theakston up and barged through the doors into the station. Thompson was in reception speaking to an elderly lady.
“Where’s Whitton?” Smith said.
“I’ve no idea,” Thompson replied.
“Is Chalmers in?” Smith shouted.
“In his office.” Thompson looked at Smith in bewilderment.
DI Chalmers was on the phone in his office when Smith barged in.
“Where’s Whitton?” Smith demanded without waiting for Chalmers to finish his call. Chalmers held up his hand to tell Smith to wait. He ended the call.
“What’s wrong with you Smith?” Chalmers said, “And what the hell is that?”
He pointed at Theakston.
“It’s a dog sir,” Smith said, “Have you seen Whitton?”
“Calm down Smith. Whitton is off today; she’s going to a wedding.”
“Where’s the wedding?”
“In Whitby. These crazy people are having a wedding on a boat in February.”
“When did you last see her?”
“She was here earlier; she came to check her e mails. She looked very nice. All dolled up and everything.”
“What time was this?”
“About an hour ago. Her car was giving her trouble so that taxi guy said he would give her a good deal to take her to Whitby.”
“What taxi guy?” Smith asked.
“The one you always use. The Chinese one. What’s his name?”
Smith was already out of the door.
SEVENTY FIVE
FISH AND CHIPS
“I really appreciate this Dave,” Whitton looked at his reflection in the mirror.
They had just passed Scarborough and were travelling north up the coast to Whitby.
“It’s no problem Miss Whitton,” Dave said, “I haven’t seen the sea in a very long time.”
“You must let me pay something for your time though.”
“Really, it’s my pleasure,” Dave smiled. “What time is the wedding?”
Whitton looked at her watch.
“I have two hours,” she said.
“I need to put in petrol,” Dave said, “I think there’s a petrol station just up ahead. I’m thirsty too; I didn’t bring anything to drink.”
“The petrol and the drinks are on me then,” Whitton said, “I insist.”
While Dave put in the petrol, Whitton went into the shop and bought two bottles of water. She waited for him to fill up and paid for the petrol as well. She was surprised that it came to so little; Dave had only put in five litres. They set off again. About two miles further up the road Whitton was sure she could hear a flapping sound coming from the right hand side of the car.
“What’s that noise?” she said.
Dave opened his window and looked out.
“Oh no,” he said, “Flat tyre. I’m going to have to change it. It looks like there’s a dirt road just up ahead.”
He pulled over onto the dirt road and stopped the car. He looked around; there did not seem to be many people around. He got out of the car and walked to the boot. Whitton also got out. She crouched down and examined the flat tyre. Something did not seem right; the valve cap was missing and there was something sticking out of the valve. It looked like a broken matchstick.
“Just enough to let the air out slowly,” Dave said, “just enough to get us this far anyway.”
Whitton was confused. It was then that she saw the gun.
“Do you know how to change a wheel?” Dave asked.
“Of course,” she replied, “what’s going on Dave?”
He threw the car jack on the ground next to her.
“The spare wheel is in the boot,” he said, “get it.”
“I don’t understand.” Whitton was getting scared.
“It would have been Vera Mae’s birthday today,” Dave said, “Valentines Day. We used to come along this road quite often. Vera Mae liked the sea. Sea, sunshine and fish and chips out of a newspaper. She loved that.”
Whitton stood up.
“Don’t try anything stupid,” Dave ordered.
He pointed the gun at her.
“I’m tired,” he said, “and I’ve got nothing to lose. Get the spare wheel.”
Whitton slowly walked to the back of the car and unscrewed the spare wheel in the boot. Dave pointed the gun at her the whole time. She picked up the wheel and rolled it over to the side of the car.
“I still don’t understand Dave,” she said.
She tried to sound calm but she could hear her own voice trembling.
“Nobody understands anything anymore,” Dave sighed, “that’s the trouble with the world these days. There’s no such thing as empathy. Unscrew the wheel nuts.”
A phone rang from inside the car’ it was Whitton’s.
“Ignore it,” Dave ordered.
The phone continued to ring and then it went silent. A car drove past on the main road but it did not stop. Whitton put the wheel spanner around one of the nuts and yanked. Nothing happened.
“It’s stuck,” she said in a panic.
“Try harder,” Dave said, “it’s amazing what you can do when you have to.”
Whitton looked up at the gun pointing at her. The phone in the car started to ring again. Whitton had managed to budge the wheel nut and was busy unscrewing it. Dave casually walked round to the back of the car and opened the door. He picked up Whitton’s phone, stood on it and kicked it further up the road.
“I tried to help you,” he said.
Whitton was busy with the second nut.
“I still don’t get it,” she said.
“Didn’t you think it was strange that I was always around?” he said, “I came out of nowhere and suddenly I was in your faces the whole time.”
“What are you talking about Dave?”
Whitton looked at the gun again.
“You and that boyfriend of yours were just too stupid to see it. In a way I think you lost sight of everything because you saw just one thing.”
“One thing?” Whitton said.
“Each other. I could see it in your faces. You were so blinded by each other that you missed what was right in front of you.”
“What was that?”
“Me of course but I knew it was all over when I took Mr Smith to see the girl.”
“What girl?”
“The girl in hospital. When Mr Smith told me she had woken up I knew that was it. She saw my face.”
Whitton suddenly felt sick. She dropped the wheel spanner on the ground.
“You?” she said.
She looked straight into Dave’s e
yes.
Dave smiled. It was a mournful smile.
“The little girl,” he mused, “by the time I’d finished with her mother most of the rage was gone but I had to finish what I’d set out to do. I obviously didn’t have enough hate left in me.”
“You don’t have to do this Dave,” Whitton said.
“Finish changing the wheel,” he sighed, “you and me are off to the seaside. Vera Mae loved the seaside. We’ll have fish and chips out of a newspaper.”
SEVENTY SIX
WEDDING BELLS
“What the hell is wrong with Smith?” Chalmers asked Thompson, “he barged into my office like a mad man.”
“I don’t know Sir,” Thompson said, “he ran straight past me out of the door; he said our man is with Whitton in Whitby.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“Something about the Willow murder. He’s not answering his phone either.”
“Go after him,” Chalmers ordered.
“What Sir?”
“Go and find him. Take Bridge with you; there’s obviously something wrong.”
Smith was driving too fast along the A64 to Scarborough. Theakston was sleeping on the passenger seat; he was snoring. Nothing phases this dog, Smith thought as he pressed down on the accelerator. He looked at the speedometer. Ninety miles an hour. He noticed he was very low on fuel. There had been a petrol station a few miles back but he decided to risk it until he found another one. The petrol light had now come on; he would have about twenty miles in reserve. He reached the outskirts of Scarborough and turned left onto the coast road to Whitby. His heart was beating fast; what has Dave done with Whitton? He thought. Has he hurt her? He saw a sign telling him there was a petrol station just up ahead. Relieved, he parked the car next to a pump and got out. He noticed for the first time that it was reasonably warm outside and there were no rain clouds in the sky. He filled up the tank and went inside the shop to pay. The woman behind the counter smiled at him as he approached. He decided to take a chance.
“Afternoon,” he said to the woman, “you haven’t perhaps seen a woman and a man here today have you? A Chinese man and a woman in her mid twenties with green eyes.”
The York Trilogy: The First 3 DS Jason Smith Detective novels Page 29
