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

by Stewart Giles

  “Thanks Coleman,” Smith shook his hand again, “I really appreciate this.”

  “No problem,” Coleman said, “give Chalmers my regards will you. Is he still smoking?”

  “On and off,” Smith replied.

  “He’s a lot more bearable when he’s smoking,” Coleman said and walked back down the corridor.

  One of the uniformed guards unlocked the door to the cell and stood back. He looked as if he was expecting Fulton to pounce at any moment. There was genuine fear in his eyes. Smith opened the door and went inside. Whitton followed closely behind him. Fulton was sitting on the bed in the corner of the room.

  “Could you please organise us two chairs please?” Smith asked one of the guards.

  Inside the room there was a bed, a sink, a toilet and nothing else.

  Fulton looked up at Smith. He stared at Whitton and smiled.

  “Good morning,” he said in a cheerful voice, “terrible weather we’re having don’t you think? Makes you want to stay indoors doesn’t it?”

  The guard placed two plastic chairs on the floor.

  “We’ll be right outside if you need us,” he said nervously.

  “Funny isn’t it,” Fulton said as Smith and Whitton sat down, “I could have sat next to that man in a pub last week and he wouldn’t have given me a second thought and now he’s absolutely terrified of me.”

  “That’s because you’re a psychotic killer,” Smith said.

  “I like you Jason,” Fulton smiled, “you’re just like your father. You tell it how it is. However, as is often the case in this world we live in, not everything is exactly how it seems.”

  “How else could it be Fulton?” Smith leaned over further in his chair. “You killed eight people in cold blood.”

  Fulton stood up. Whitton’s muscles tensed. He walked over to the small window and looked outside. Whitton thought he looked slightly chubbier than he did on the footage from the Hilton hotel pool.

  “I don’t know how you put up with this weather Jason,” Fulton said, still staring out of the window.

  The rain was lashing against the glass and if it were not for the flickering strobe light in the cell, they would be in darkness.

  “What did you come to this awful place?”

  “You know why,” Smith said defiantly, “you seem to know a hell of a lot about me.”

  “That I do,” Fulton smiled.

  “Why?” Smith asked.

  “Why what?”

  “You know what. You hanged that man, drowned the girl, crushed that poor old lady’s lungs and broke her hip. You even killed that woman in a car crash. Why?”

  “You forgot about the man whose final taste of life came from a champagne bottle,” Fulton added.

  “You’re not going anywhere Fulton,” Smith said.

  He could feel his face reddening.

  “That’s right,” Fulton mused, “but you are aren’t you Jason? You’ll leave here today and go home wont you? Back to your life. You’ll go home and forget won’t you?”

  Smith stood up. Whitton put her hand on his arm.

  “Calm down sir,” she said.

  “That’s right Jason,” Fulton smiled, “listen to your colleague. How did it feel when you thought you were about to drown?” he addressed Whitton.

  “I can’t remember,” Whitton replied.

  “I don’t believe you. We all know when we’re about to die my dear. And Jason here saved your life didn’t he? When someone risks their own life to save another’s you owe them a debt forever don’t you?”

  “I suppose so,” Whitton admitted.

  “Enough Fulton,” Smith sat back down again.

  Fulton walked over to the sink. He turned on the tap and washed his hands. He dried them with the back of his shirt.

  “Look at this room Jason,” he said, “no mirror, no books, not even a towel to dry my hands. They’ve removed everything that could be used to kill myself with. Do you really want to know why Jason? Eating you up inside is it?”

  Smith glared at him.

  “Can you see what it is yet Jason?” Fulton raised his voice.

  One of the guards entered the room.

  “It’s alright,” Smith said to him.

  He suddenly felt cold. He stared at Fulton’s face. The black eyes stared back at him. He looked much older and paler now without the fake tan and the wig.

  “You owe me,” Smith said to Fulton.

  “I owe you?” Fulton laughed. “Why do I owe you? Because your life has been hell for the past couple of weeks? Try a lifetime of hell and then you can say I owe you. Have you finished reading the diary yet? What does Max say about me?”

  Smith flinched when he heard his father’s first name. He had not heard it in a very long time.

  “Max was a good man Jason,” Fulton continued,” he would have been proud of you. Do you want to know why he killed himself?”

  Smith felt sick. I need a drink, he thought. This had been a bad idea.

  “You’re going to rot in here,” he stood up again and walked to the door.

  “Vietnam was not just hell for the men who fought there Jason,” Fulton said quietly, “I think it was worse for those that stayed behind.”

  Smith turned round to face him.

  “You’re just a fucking sicko,” he said, “come on Whitton, this has been a complete waste of time.”

  He put his hand on the door.

  “John and Jimmy Fulton,” Fulton shouted behind him, “ripped out of the womb ten minutes apart. They say that twins have a strange kind of telepathic psychic connection.”

  Smith opened the door and walked down the corridor.

  FORTY NINE

  BOYZONE

  “Are you happy now Smith?” Chalmers asked, “Can we finally put this behind us?”

  “I want to put in for a weeks leave sir,” Smith said.

  Chalmers sighed. He tapped a few keys on his keyboard and looked at the computer screen.

  “You’ve got ten days owing to you,” he said, “take them all. Get this shit out of your system.”

  “Thanks sir,” Smith said, “I’ll see you in ten days.”

  “Planning on going on anywhere nice?” Chalmers asked.

  “Lake District. An old friend of mine is arriving tomorrow. I’m thinking of taking her to the lakes.”

  “At this time of year?” Chalmers said, “Take a rain coat. You’re going to get wet. Before you go Smith, the super wants a word with you about the article in the Sun. Listen to me here, you’re skating on thin ice with Smyth as it is. I know you’re responsible for the shit they printed. You know you’re responsible but Smyth must never know. Do yourself a bloody huge favour. Deny everything. Smyth’ll have your guts for garters if he finds out. You may be the biggest pain in the arse I’ve ever worked with but you’re a bloody good copper.”

  “Thanks sir,” Smith said, “I’ll have a word with old Smyth on my way out.”

  “Be nice to him Smith,” Chalmers said but Smith had already left his office.

  Smith stopped off at his own office before speaking to Smyth. He closed the door behind him and sat in front of his computer. He opened up his e mails. There were now over two hundred unopened messages. He scrolled down and clicked on the one at the very bottom of the list. He held down the Control and A keys and pressed delete. He smiled as all the messages were instantly deleted. He opened up Google and typed in ‘Lake District hotels’ and ‘dog friendly’. There were two results. The Red Lion in Grasmere seemed the most promising so he completed an online booking form. Almost immediately he received an e mail informing him he was provisionally booked at The Red Lion from Wednesday until Sunday. Two adults and one dog. He smiled and shut down the computer.

  As he approached Smyth’s office, Smith could hear disturbing music coming from inside. It was ‘Love me for a reason’. The Boyzone version. He smiled as he heard Smyth singing along in a high voice. He knocked on the door and entered the office.

  “Ah Sm
ith,” Smyth said. He turned the music off.

  “Nice music sir,” Smith lied, “you wanted to see me?”

  “Yes,” Smyth scratched his head, “what do you know about this?”

  He placed a copy of the Sun on the desk in front of Smith.

  “Nice photo sir,” Smith smiled, “makes you look a lot younger.”

  “Thanks Smith,” Smyth said, “do you have any idea where they got this information from?”

  “Could have been anywhere,” Smith replied, “You know what these vultures in the press are like.”

  “So it wasn’t you then?”

  “God no,” Smith replied immediately,” I hate journalists. Last thing I would want to do would be to speak with them. Like I said, it could have come from anywhere. The restaurant owner, the waitress. Sir, you do have, how can I put it, a very memorable presence about you.”

  Smyth seemed to swell up with pride.

  “I suppose you’re right Smith,” he said, “I was taught from a very young age to stand proud. That’s how I became who I am today.”

  “I could learn a lot from you sir,” Smith was finding it very hard not to laugh.

  “That will be all Smith.”

  Smyth looked at the photograph on the front page of the newspaper again and smiled.

  Smith stopped off at a supermarket on the way home and bought twenty four beers and four bottles of wine. As he stood at the checkout waiting to pay he looked at the racks of newspapers on the racks next to the checkout. Everyone seemed to have something about the serial killer on the front page. Two of them had photographs of Thompson. Smith smiled. Let him enjoy his moment, he thought. At least it was all over now.

  “We’re going on holiday boy,” Smith said to Theakston as he walked inside his house, “Lake District. You’re going to love it.”

  He put eight beers in the fridge and placed the wine in a cupboard. He opened a beer and poured it into a glass. He took out a frozen pizza from the freezer and turned on the oven. While he waited for the oven to warm up, he kicked off his shoes and sat on the couch in the living room. Theakston assumed his usual position next to him. Smith looked at the diary on the coffee table in front of him. There was still a lot to read. He stood up, walked back to the kitchen and put the pizza in the oven. He set the timer, poured himself another beer and sat back down again. He picked up the diary.

  Saturday 25 June 1966. Saigon.

  We’ve been moved again to just north of Saigon. Nobber reckons Saigon used to be one of the most beautiful cities in the world before all this shit happened. They bombed the Rex Hotel last week. Blew it to pieces. Thirty four civilians died. Two of them were Americans. There’s death everywhere. Everywhere you look in this place there’s death. I don’t think I’ll ever be able to get the smell of death out of my nostrils. John is showing the early signs of cracking. Nobber says he can spot it a mile away. John is smoking a lot of green these days and I think that’s half the problem. I spoke to him about it but he told me to mind my own business. That stuff can mess with your brain if you’re not careful. I don’t have too much to write because not much is happening. One day oozes into the next. We all need a break from this place. We still have a few more months before we’re eligible for R and R. I reckon I’m going to try out a few of the waves Dimple told me about. The breakers up north.

  Saigon to me will always be known as the bar brawl whore house capital of the frigging world. Here we are dodging sniper fire and avoiding land mines and some of the blokes are fighting in bars and picking up god knows what from the hundreds of prostitutes that roam the city. I’ll give it to the Vietnamese. They certainly are full of enterprise. Supply and demand. Some of the blokes here are so bloody sex starved they don’t care what they put their dicks in. For a couple of dollars you get a few minutes of pleasure followed by a few months of antibiotics.

  Sunday 21 August 1965

  We’re officially in the history books. After months of waiting around for something to happen, something happened. Long Tan happened. We’d been following a freaky radio transmission for weeks. Nobody knew what the hell it was. We were in Phuoc Tuy and the transmission was moving west towards Long Tan. It was like a bloody phantom. We searched and searched but found nothing. Brain is a whizz with radio equipment and even he couldn’t track it. We just couldn’t find where the hell it was coming from.

  On Wednesday we were just south of Nui Dat and the word was the Viet Cong had blasted the shit out of the place. We were ordered to locate the source of the fire. We couldn’t believe what we found there. Weapons pits, mortars, the whole lot. The VC were planning something huge. Every one of us was shit scared. We were in the lead platoon in pursuit of the bastards. They couldn’t be too far away. We caught up with a small VC squad and shot the shit out of them. My trigger finger still throbs. We followed them further into the jungle and came under heavy fire later that day. Because we had advanced ahead of the other platoons in pursuit of the Gooks we found ourselves isolated. To top it all off the heavens opened and the monsoon rains came down with a vengeance. Visibility was virtually nil. We were sitting ducks out there, blinded by the rain and in the middle of a circle of Gooks. I’m not religious one little bit but I made my peace with the world out there. I didn’t think we were going to get out alive. Nobber radioed for immediate artillery support but he wasn’t exactly sure of our position and the monsoon rain didn’t help. The VC were everywhere. We were bombarded by machine gun fire and rocket powered grenades and were forced to take a defensive stance. There was virtually nowhere to hide though and the enemy fire was relentless. Blokes were dropping like flies. Blokes we had been drinking and laughing with days before were being blown to pieces.

  We were ordered to move forwards. For Christ’s sake, it was like advancing into a wall of bullets. Abo took a bullet in his hand and Brain had his ear blown off. We heard over the radio that armed personnel carriers were heading our way with reinforcements. Better late than never. A third of our platoon was either dead or wounded. I was sure I was about to die. As darkness fell, the gunfire quietened down. Two more platoons and B company had arrived by then. The VC were caught off guard as we crashed their flanks and finally broke through. If it wasn’t for the reinforcements I wouldn’t be writing this now. There must have been over two thousand of those Gooks.

  The firing stopped just after seven and we set about helping the blokes who were wounded. We had to get them to the landing strip so the choppers could take them away. It was like a bloody meat market. There were blokes who had lost arms, some had lost legs and some of the poor bastards had lost both. I’d rather be dead. What followed was the longest night of my life. The rain was relentless and then the cold set in. Minutes seemed like hours. Nobody said a word. We just sat there the whole night staring into the distance. John had this disturbing look on his face. I didn’t know how much more he would be able to take.

  When morning did eventually arrive, the full extent of the battle became apparent. More men were brought in to help with the clean up and the sweep of the area. There were dead bodies everywhere. When we had counted the dead Gooks it became apparent that we had won a huge victory. Eighteen Australians had died though. Eighteen young men. It makes me feel sick just thinking about it.

  Friday 2 September 1965. U.S. Field hospital Phuoc Hoy.

  They got me. Those bastard gooks shot me through the lung. I’m lucky to be alive according to the doctors. I remember everything. The rain was battering down on us and we had made a small shelter from a piece of plastic. Me, John, Abo and Brain. I remember Brain had a bandage on his head from where they’d shot his ear off. Nobber told us to take the shelter down and take cover behind a small clump of trees. We found a small hollow in the ground and jumped inside. That was when John went crazy. He had this stupid grin on his face. Nobber got shot in the shoulder. John smiled at me, climbed out of the hollow and started to walk in the direction of the enemy fire. I said I’d go after him but Nobber ordered me not to. I remember th
e blood streaming down his arm as I ignored the order and went after John. I found him sitting against a tree staring into nothing. Then I woke up in here. The bullet went through my lung and out my back. John’s in here too. He’s been declared stark raving mad. That’s not exactly the way the docs put it but technically, he’s a mental case. He seems alright to me though. He’s putting it on now so he doesn’t have to go back out there. He’s barely acknowledged the fact that I saved his frigging life. He’s acting like everything’s a big joke. He’s even hooked up with one of the nurses. Pretty thing called Sophie. While I’m recovering from taking a bullet for him he’s out enjoying himself with a pretty nurse. He thinks I don’t know about it but I’ve seen how they are together. If anyone finds out they’ll send him right back.

  I got out of bed for the first time since getting shot. My chest still hurts like hell but I can breathe a lot easier now. For a while it felt like I was suffocating. I even walked a few steps today. We’ve got some R and R coming up and I want to get better so I can head up north and do a bit of surfing. I heard that Dimple got killed. The VC ambushed his village and wiped out almost everybody. This war’s never going to end. John tried to help me walk but I told him to piss off. I hate the sight of him at the moment. He’s skating on thin ice with me. All it would take is for me to drop a few hints about his mental state and he’d be thrown back out there as quick as you could say Waltzing Mathilda. I hate the way Sophie looks at him like he’s some kind of frigging hero. I’m the hero for god’s sake.

  Monday 28 November 1966. Perth. Australia

  It’s all over for me. The war is anyway. I took my R and R in Sydney. The army advised against going to one of the beaches in Northern Vietnam. They said it was far too dangerous so I came to Sydney instead. I managed to persuade a doctor here to write a report stating that the injuries I sustained in Vietnam are such that I am no longer fit for active service. An interview with the army in Perth has qualified this and I am now a free man. Jimmy Fulton paid me a visit today. Things got pretty heated and we nearly came to blows. He said that he doesn’t know how I can live with myself after what I’ve done. He told me what became of John because of me. I know I shouldn’t have done it, I realise that now and I’m going to have to live with it on my conscience for the rest of my life. In a fit of jealous rage I…