“No record,” Chalmers said, “he’s a good old fashioned honest citizen. His prints are on record from his days in the army. And I mean days. He joined up in sixty five ready to be deployed in Vietnam but he was discharged weeks later on medical grounds. He never saw active combat. Since then he’s kept his nose clean. Not so much as a parking ticket. Basically a solid, law abiding chap.”
“Until now,” Smith said.
“Until now,” Chalmers repeated, “what makes a model citizen decide to kill three people in less than a week?”
The room was silent.
“There has to be a reason behind this,” Chalmers said eventually, “normal people do not suddenly wake up one morning and decide to commit murder.”
Smith stood up and paced up and down the room. Everybody stared at him as if he were mad.
“What I’m about to say stays in this room,” he said, “Is that clear?”
Everybody looked at him and nodded.
“This Jimmy Fulton is killing people in ways that replicate the deaths of people close to me,” Smith said.
Palmer and Bridge stared at him with open mouths.
“He even knows the exact dates when members of my family died.”
Smith elaborated about his father’s hanging, his sister’s disappearance and the death of his Gran.
“What we don’t know,” Smith continued, “is why he’s doing this and what I have to do with it all. I don’t know this man and the only thing connecting us is the fact that we were both born in the same godforsaken country.”
“So you’ve never met him before sir?” Bridge said nervously.
“Like I said Bridge, apart from being drugged by the lunatic, yesterday was the only other time I’ve met the man. He’s been phoning me too.”
“And he’s been in this very station at least twice,” Whitton added.
“He’s playing with my head,” Smith said.
“What did he say when he phoned you sir?” Palmer asked.
“Nothing,” Smith replied, “he just said can you see what it is yet.”
He put on his best Rolf Harris accent. Palmer sniggered. Smith glared at him.
“What have we got so far?” Chalmers could see that Smith was becoming agitated.
“Three murders sir,” Whitton said, “all committed by the same man using a different disguise each time.”
“What do we know about the man?” Chalmers asked.
“He likes expensive hotels sir,” Bridge said.
“So he’s not short of cash then?” Chalmers said,
“And he smokes,” Palmer added.
“Chesterfield plain,” Smith said, “not too common here. I don’t know of many shops that sell them. I don’t think he’s been in the country long.”
“I’m sorry to ask this sir,” Bridge said, “how many more of your family are dead?”
“Bridge,” Palmers barked.
“Its ok sir,” Smith said, “Bridge has a valid point. All of my family are dead apart from my sister. My mother died in a car crash last year.”
“I think that’s what his next move will be then,” Bridge said.
“A car crash Bridge?” Smith’s face was red, “how the hell do you recreate a car crash?”
“I don’t know sir but it fits his pattern.”
“Pattern?” Smith said.
“I’m a bit obsessed with serial killers sir,” Bridge said, “I’ve read lots of books about the subject. I never thought in a million years that I’d be dealing with one in York of all places though.”
“Bridge,” Chalmers interrupted, “get on with it. We have a lot to get through today.”
“Sorry sir,” Bridge said, “It’s fascinating actually. Our guy is definitely not your typical case study serial killer.”
“Get to the point Bridge,” Chalmers said.
“Ninety percent of serial killers are sexually driven. The killing is often just an afterthought or a way to avoid leaving any witnesses. This one is different. It seems to me that he’s killing these people to punish you for something.”
He looked at Smith.
“That’s pretty bloody obvious Bridge,” Smith said, “but why? I’ve never met the man before.”
“I believe he’s out for revenge sir.”
“Revenge for what?” Smith said.
“I don’t know sir. What I do know is he has a pattern and that pattern will not be broken. I’m certain that he will try to kill someone in a car crash soon.”
“And then he’ll stop?” Smith asked, “Is that what you’re saying?”
“I’m afraid not sir. I think then he’ll come after you.”
“Bridge,” Chalmers shouted, “I’ve never heard such tripe in my life. We’ve got a lunatic out there. We should be trying to catch the bastard not pontificating about bloody profiles. We know who he is now. That’s a start. Check airport records. He must have come in somewhere. Put his face out. He can’t have that many disguises and someone must have seen him. Smith, you haven’t forgot about that press conference have you?”
“I don’t think its such a good idea sir,” Smith protested.
“You caused this shit in the papers Smith,” Chalmers said, “tomorrow morning at nine. Be ready for it. Now, if there’s nothing more, get out there and catch this bastard.”
“How was the date Whitton?” Smith asked as they walked to his office.
“Terrible,” she replied, “real creep. Only after one thing.”
“What’s that?” Smith smiled, “what the hell…”
A man in blue overalls was busy removing the door from Smith’s office.
“Leave that bloody door alone,” Smith said, “or I’ll have you arrested for theft.”
“Orders from the top,” the man said.
“Piss off,” Smith said, “but first put the door back on.”
The man did as he was told, shook his head and walked off in disgust.
“The Supers lost his mind Whitton,” Smith said, “the man’s an idiot.”
“Speaking of idiots sir,” Whitton said.
“Thompson,” Smith smiled, “what can I do you for?”
Thompson looked angry.
“How come you still have a door,” he said, “I went to my office after the meeting and mine was gone.”
“This is bullshit,” Smith said and marched off.
Whitton and Thompson watched in disbelief.
Superintendant Jeremy Smyth was on the phone when Smith barged in. The door to his office was still there. Smith waited until he had finished his call.
“We’re in the middle of a bloody murder investigation,” Smith shouted as soon as Smyth had put the phone down, “and you’re more interested in removing bloody doors. What the hell is going on? Are you selling doors to make more cash?”
“Detective Sergeant,” Smyth said, “it is customary to knock before you enter a superior officer’s office.”
“At least you still have a frigging door to knock on,” Smith roared, “and you’re not a superior officer’s arse.”
“Detective, I appreciate the pressure you’re under at the moment but that is no reason for this disrespect.”
“Disrespect,” Smith said, “disrespect. I’ve got more respect for my dog’s balls than I have for you. You public school faggot.”
“I’m warning you Smith.” Smyth’s face was getting redder and redder.
“What are you going to do Smyth?” Smith said, “Bend me over the table and do what you public school boys do best?”
“Smith,” Smyth shouted, “that’s enough. One more word and I’ll have you up for insubordination.”
Smith scratched his head for a moment.
“One more word,” he said, “here’s two for you sir. Fuck you.”
He walked back down the corridor to his office.
Two minutes later Chalmers barged into Smith’s office.
“My office now,” he barked.
“Not now sir,” Smith said, “I’m busy.
”
“Not any more. You’re suspended. You can’t go around swearing at the Super. Old Smyth is quite upset. Go home and get some sleep. I’ll try and iron things out with the old fool; tell him it’s the side effects of the Ketamine or something. Now get out of here.”
Smith was about to say something but he changed his mind. He picked up his coat and left the office.
TWENTY FIVE
DEEP BLUES CLUB
“Lucy Maclean,” Smith said to the woman sitting at the corner of the bar at Jimmy’s Bar.
Jimmy’s was a rough and ready student hang out. It was quarter past eight and the place was slowly beginning to fill up.
“Can I buy you a drink?” Smith asked, “I certainly need one.”
“I’ve just got one thanks,” she replied, “You look tired Jason.”
“Rough week. Anyway, I don’t want to talk about that. What brings you to York?”
“I’m busy tying up a few loose ends in the country,” she said, “David had quite a lot of business interests here.”
“Pint of Theakstons please,” Smith said to the man behind the bar when he finally made eye contact with him.
“I’m selling the whole company bit by bit,” Lucy said, “I didn’t realise quite how much David was worth.”
The bar man put Smith’s beer on the counter. He picked it up and drank half of it in one gulp.
“You’re thirsty,” Lucy laughed. It was a long time since Smith had heard that laugh.
“Like I said,” Smith said, “rough week. How long are you here for?”
“Only until Tuesday,” she replied, “then I’m flying back to Perth with a short stop in Singapore. After that, White and White Exports will no longer exist.”
“And then you can retire?” Smith joked.
“Hardly,” Lucy said.
Her face looked serious.
“Then I can start to redistribute the ill gotten wealth. Did you know that White and White was worth over four hundred million US dollars when David died? Obviously, I wanted a quick sale and I recouped just over half that but its still a bucket load of money.”
Smith laughed.
“What’s so funny?” Lucy asked.
“You haven’t changed Lucy Maclean,” Smith said, “You’re the rich one, how about you buy a poor policeman a drink? This one seems to have a hole in the bottom.”
She put a twenty pound note on the bar in front of him.
“I’m going to the ladies,” she said, “get me one too. I’ll have a whisky and soda.”
Smith watched as Lucy walked to the toilets. She had not changed much since they were friends as teenagers. After his sister disappeared from a beach in Fremantle when Smith was sixteen, Lucy had been the only one who had stood by him through his moods and temper tantrums. She still looked exactly the same, tall with one green eye and one dark blue one. He ordered a whisky and soda and a pint of Theakstons.
“So, Jason Smith,” Lucy said when she sat down again, “shouldn’t you be out looking for York’s first serial killer instead of sitting here reminiscing with an old friend?”
Smith looked at her and frowned.
“It’s all over the papers,” she said, “you’re in there too. You’re famous. The press are making out there’s a lunatic on the loose.”
“They’re not wrong,” Smith sighed, “Anyway, I’m suspended.”
“Suspended?” Lucy exclaimed, “what for?”
“I called the Superintendant a faggot.”
Lucy nearly spat out her drink.
“Same old Jason,” she smiled.
“It’s a long story,” he said.
The bar was getting busy now. There was not much room left at the bar.
“What are you going to do with all that money?” Smith changed the subject.
“I’m going to give it all away,” she replied.
“Two hundred million?”
“I don’t need it and I certainly don’t want it. I know David was my husband but he wasn’t exactly what you would call a model humanitarian.”
“He was a bit of a bastard,” Smith added.
“You always did have a habit of saying exactly what was on your mind Jason,” she said.
“That’s why I’m here. Suspended during the hunt for a serial killer.”
“How long are you suspended for?”
“Not long. My Inspector will sort things out. Besides, they need me. This maniac is out to get me.”
He told her the story from the beginning. When he was finished they sat in silence.
“That’s quite sick if you ask me,” Lucy said eventually, “why does he have it in for you?”
“I have no idea,” Smith replied, “I don’t even know who he is. We only got lucky with Interpol and the Australians because he spent some time in the army during Vietnam.”
“Your Dad was in the army at around that time wasn’t he?”
“He fought in Vietnam. This guy didn’t make it that far. He was discharged before he even went.”
“It’s all very creepy anyway.”
“This place is getting too crowded,” Smith said, “bloody students. Where do they get the money to drink on a Sunday night? If this is the future of this country then we’re buggered. I’m moving to Iceland or somewhere. Do you mind if we move on somewhere else?”
“You know York better than I do,” she said, “as long as its not one of those techno boom boom places.”
“Quite the opposite,” Smith smiled, “finish your drink.”
The Deep Blues Club was a modest looking place off a side street outside the city centre. It was the haunt of mostly thirty something men who wanted to listen to real music while they drank their bourbons or vodkas. As Smith and Lucy walked in, Led Zeppelin was blaring out of the speakers. They approached the bar.
“If it isn’t the Wizard of Oz,” the man behind the bar said.
His name was Mad Dog Malone. He was the owner of the club and he had known Smith for many years.
“Are you going to play?” he asked.
“Not tonight,” Smith said, “I’m not in the mood. Can I get two double jacks on the rocks please?”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?”
Mad dog looked at Lucy.
“Manners of an ape this one,” he added.
“Sorry,” Smith said, “Lucy, meet Mad Dog. He’s one of the best drummers in the northern hemisphere and he owns this dive.”
“Nice to meet you,” Lucy stuck out her hand.
“Another Aussie.” Mad Dog shook her hand.
“Let’s grab a table away from the speakers,” Smith said.
He led Lucy to a table in the far corner of the room.
“This is better,” Smith said as he sipped his drink, “proper music. At least you can think to this stuff.”
“Speaking of thinking,” Lucy said. She had a wry smile on her face. “I have an idea.”
“I’m not going to like this am I?” Smith said.
“I don’t think so but I’m going to run it by you anyway. Why don’t you fly back with me on Tuesday?”
“Definitely not,” Smith replied immediately.
“When was the last time you went home?”
“This is home Lucy. Can we talk about something else now?”
“What have you got against Australia Jason?”
“There’s nothing left for me there anymore,” Smith sighed.
He finished what was left in his glass.
“Another drink?” he asked and walked to the bar without waiting for an answer.
“Think about it Jason,” Lucy said when Smith returned with the drinks.
“There’s nothing to think about,” Smith said defiantly.
“Please, just hear me out. You’re suspended and from what I can gather, the investigation isn’t getting anywhere and this maniac is torturing you.”
“I still don’t see how taking a holiday right now will help.”
“You’re quite dumb when your stu
bbornness takes over you know,” Lucy said.
Smith looked quite hurt.
“It won’t be a holiday,” Lucy continued, “Damn it Jason. Where is this man from? Go and do some digging into his past.”
“You’re the fourth person to say something like that,” Smith sighed.
“And you still don’t listen?”
“I suppose you could be on to something,” Smith admitted, “but the police are never going to authorise such an expensive trip.”
“Don’t worry about that part,” Lucy smiled, “I have a bucket load of cash I need to get rid of remember.”
Smith laughed. He had not laughed like that in a very long time.
“Thanks Lucy,” Smith said. He looked at her and smiled.
“For what?” she asked.
“You always did know how to sort me out. What time does the flight leave?”
“Eight, Tuesday morning. We’ll get to Singapore early Wednesday. I have a few things I need to sort out there and we fly to Perth later the same night.”
“Perth,” Smith said. He had a distant look in his eyes. “Seems like a million years ago.”
TWENTY SIX
Monday 8 March 2010
FLORIDA
Merle Brandon was in seventh heaven. She had just secured the job she had been dreaming about. Junior secretary at Lloyd, Brent and Halberg, one of the top legal firms in York. This position would open many doors for her. She would have to start at the very bottom, she understood that but it would help her to realise her ultimate ambition – to be a defence lawyer. Merle had been waiting so long because the position required a valid driving license. After the third attempt she had managed to pass. After months of saving, Merle had enough money for a used Ford Fiesta in reasonable condition.
“Just sign these and she’s all yours,” Derek Walker said.
He was head salesman at the car dealership on Queen Street. Merle looked over the papers and just to be sure, she looked at them again.
“They’re all in order, I can assure you,” Walker said.
He had spotted the elderly man looking at the 4x4 on the forecourt.
“Just making sure before I sign anything,” Merle said.
If she was to become a legal secretary she would have to be meticulous where contracts like these were concerned.
The York Trilogy: The First 3 DS Jason Smith Detective novels Page 38
