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

by Stewart Giles

  “You’re such a dope Jason,” she laughed.

  “I’ll see you later today,” Smith said, “I love you.”

  The phone went quiet for a few seconds.

  “I love you too,” Lucy said eventually.

  Smith still had the phone held to his ear long after Lucy had rung off.

  The phone rang next to his ear. Smith got such a fright that he almost dropped it.

  “Smith,” he answered it.

  “Can you see what it is yet?” a man’s voice said.

  “You’re fucked Fulton,” Smith said.

  He could feel his blood boiling.

  “If you hurt her I will personally see to it that you rot in hell.”

  “Hurt who Jason?” the man said.

  “What?” Smith said.

  The phone went dead.

  Smith stood up and made his way to the conference room. He sat down next to DC Bridge.

  “Morning Bridge,” Smith said.

  “Morning sir,” Bridge replied. He looked like he had not slept again. He had a decent growth of stubble on his chin and his eyes were bloodshot.

  “You look like Hell Bridge,” Smith said, “You should really get some sleep.”

  “How can I sleep when Whitton is out there? We don’t even know if she’s still alive.”

  “She’s alive,” Smith said, “Fulton sent me some photographs of her yesterday. The bastard wrote on her feet.”

  “Oh no,” Bridge said.

  “He wrote tomorrows date. We need to find her before tomorrow.”

  Chalmers barged through the doors. Superintendant Smyth walked in behind him.

  “Imbecile,” Smith muttered under his breath.

  Bridge sniggered. Smyth took the floor.

  “As you may be aware,” he began, “the hot line number given to the press yesterday was the wrong one. It was a terrible mistake and I am man enough to stand up before you and take full responsibility for it. I believe it is a minor hiccup and it can be rectified.”

  Smith stood up.

  Chalmers glared at him and he sat down again.

  “The local news station has been kind enough to agree to run the story again this evening,” Smyth continued, “with the correct number this time and I believe we will glean enough evidence from the calls we receive to find out where Detective Constable Whitton is being held against her will.”

  Smith stood up again. This time Chalmers just shook his head.

  “Can I say something Smyth?” Smith said with utter contempt in his voice.

  “By all means Smith,” Smyth replied.

  “One simple task,” Smith said, “all you had to do was give out a simple eleven digit number in the right fucking order and we could be out there right now looking for Whitton in the right places. Instead, we’re stuck in here listening to your bullshit.”

  The room went silent.

  “Sir,” Smith added.

  He kicked the chair behind him and walked towards the door. He stopped in the doorway.

  “If anything happens to Whitton,” he glared at Smyth, “I’m holding you directly responsible.”

  Smith stormed out of the room.

  “Smith and Whitton are close sir,” Chalmers said to Smyth when Smith was gone.

  He was trying to calm the situation.

  “That’s still no excuse for his disrespect,” Smyth insisted, “I’m getting a bit tired of Smith’s complete lack of respect for authority.”

  “Whitton is one of our own sir,” Chalmers said, “we have to allow for emotions running a bit high at the moment. Let’s get started.”

  Chalmers addressed the officers in the room. All of them were staring with wide eyes.

  “I want you all out there,” he began, “Knock on doors. Speak to everybody you meet. You’ve all got photos of Whitton and Fulton. Show them around. Someone must have seen something. We need to find Whitton today.”

  Everyone stood up and headed for the door.

  “Chalmers,” Smyth said when everyone had left, “can I have a word?”

  “Make it quick sir,” Chalmers replied, “we’ve got a lot to do.”

  “I’m afraid I simply cannot let Smith’s little outburst go unpunished. He belittled me in front of everybody. How am I supposed to keep this station in order if I let a lower ranking officer speak to me like that?”

  “Leave it to me sir,” Chalmers suggested, “I’ll make damn sure it doesn’t happen again.”

  “Very good Chalmers,” Smyth said, “now I have a round of golf booked. Keep me informed of any progress.”

  “Bloody imbecile,” Chalmers said when Smyth was out of earshot.

  SIXTY EIGHT

  WATER LEAK

  “You’re famous my dear,” Fulton said, “We were all over the news last night. I recorded it for prosperity. You’ll never guess what your friends at York City’s prestigious police department did though. Are you still with us Erica?”

  Whitton opened one eye in acknowledgement. She was incredibly weak. She had not eaten anything in four days and the repeated doses of Fulton’s mystery drug had drained her body of strength.

  “You’ll love this,” Fulton smiled, “they gave out a hot line number so that anybody with any information as to your whereabouts could phone in. Of course I phoned the number. I wanted to do my bit for society. As an upright decent citizen. I wanted to give those clueless idiots who call themselves police officers a few clues but when I phoned the number I was told by a monotonous voice that the number I had dialled did not exist.

  Whitton mumbled something.

  “How do you like that Erica?” Fulton asked, “They don’t hold you in much regard do they? They couldn’t even get a simple phone number right. Are you hungry yet?”

  Whitton managed to shake her head. She was exhausted. She was beginning to give up all hope of being found. She looked at Fulton’s face. He was wearing green contact lenses behind a pair of thick rimmed glasses and he was wearing a ginger wig.

  “Do you want to hear something else funny Erica?”

  Whitton just stared at him.

  “I walked into three different newsagents this morning and bought a newspaper from each of them. My face was on the front page of all the newspapers and yet nobody even noticed. That’s the trouble with the world today Erica. People only care about themselves. They don’t see anything further than their own noses. I have to go out for a bit now. I have to make plans for tomorrow. Just so you don’t get any funny ideas of trying to escape I’m afraid I’m going to have to put you to sleep for a few hours again.”

  “No more,” Whitton murmured, “please.”

  “Begging doesn’t suit you Erica,” Fulton said.

  He took out the syringe and filled it from the vial. He injected it into Whitton’s right shoulder. She felt her muscles relax immediately. Before she drifted into unconsciousness, Fulton whispered something in her ear.

  Fulton closed the door behind him and snapped the padlock shut. He looked around. There was nobody in sight. Nobody comes here, he thought to himself and smiled. He walked to where he had parked his car and got in. He looked at his reflection in the rear view mirror and laughed out loud. He took the false goatee beard from the glove compartment and carefully attached it to his face.

  “You look like an encyclopaedia salesman,” he said to himself as he drove off.

  He drove away from the abandoned industrial estate and switched on the GPS. The woman’s soft voice told him he was to turn left after four hundred metres. He was directed to the east of the city. He drove for another few miles and when he parked the car outside the house in the quiet street he was informed that he had reached his destination. He took the blue overalls from the back seat and put them on in the car. He got out and walked up the path to the house. It was starting to rain. He knocked on the door. A woman in her twenties answered it almost immediately.

  “Good day Miss,” Fulton said in the Yorkshire accent he had been practising, “York City Council. Y
ou reported a water leak.”

  The woman looked surprised.

  “There’s no water leak here,” she said, “You must have the wrong house.”

  “That’s strange,” Fulton said, “this is number forty four isn’t it?”

  “It is,” the woman replied, “who reported the leak?”

  “I just get the call to come out,” Fulton said, “I don’t know who reported it. I was told to check for a water leak at the back of number forty four. Do you know how much money water leaks costs the council each year? Do you mind if I just come in and check?”

  “I don’t think so,” the woman said, “I’m here on my own.”

  “If I assume it’s a false alarm and I don’t check anyway I can get into serious trouble. It’ll only take a few minutes.”

  He heard a dog barking inside the house.

  “And would you mind locking the dog away too,” he said, “me and dogs don’t seem to see eye to eye.”

  “I suppose you’d better check,” the woman said, “I’ll just put the dog in the living room.”

  Fulton waited while the woman went back inside.

  “Come in,” she said, “the dog’s locked away. You said the leak was at the back?”

  “That’s right,” Fulton replied.

  “The back door leads out from the kitchen.”

  Fulton followed her inside. She opened the back door and went outside. He followed her into a small garden. There was a four feet fence all the way around the garden. He pretended to check a pipe on the outside of the house. He noticed there was a window open. He looked through the window and saw the dog lying on the sofa in the living room. It growled at him menacingly.

  “False alarm,” he said to the woman, “you wouldn’t believe how many false alarms we get. Thank you for your time. I’ll be off now.”

  He walked back to the front door, opened it and walked back to his car. As he drove off Fulton smiled. This was going to be easier than he thought.

  SIXTY NINE

  CRAZY DOG

  It was four in the afternoon by the time everybody met back in the conference room of the station. The mood was not positive. For almost eight hours the entire York police department had been out asking questions, knocking on doors and showing photographs but they were no closer to finding out where Fulton was holding Whitton. They had come up with nothing. Bridge had questioned an old lady who said she might have seen someone that looked like Fulton in the supermarket on Wednesday but she could not be sure. Smith sat with his head in his hands. Bridge sat next to him. He looked even worse than he had done that morning. Smith’s phone vibrated in his pocket. He took it out. It was Webber. Smith’s heart started to beat faster. Please tell me Webber has found something, he thought.

  “Webber,” Smith said, “tell me you have something.”

  “Firstly,” Webber said, “the wine from Whitton’s house was spiked with a strong sedative. A Benzodiazepine.”

  “The same kind of drug that was found in the guy that Fulton hanged at the Royal York?” Smith asked.

  “Precisely,” Webber replied, “but I’m afraid the photos gave us nothing to go on. We enhanced them, examined them pixel by pixel on the computer but all we could find out was there were a few filing cabinets behind Whitton when the photo was taken. It could be anywhere.”

  “Shit,” Smith said.

  “Sorry Smith,” Webber said, “we tried everything.”

  “Thanks Webber.”

  Smith rang off.

  “Sir,” Bridge said, “I’ve been thinking.”

  “Go ahead Bridge.”

  “You received messages from Fulton on your phone?”

  “That’s right,” Smith said.

  “Why don’t we try and trace his phone. We could at least pinpoint his position to a few hundred square metres.”

  “I thought about that too Bridge,” Smith said, “but each time he phones or sends a message he uses a different sim card. He dumps the sim as soon as he’s finished.”

  “So what now sir?” Bridge sounded despondent.

  “I don’t know Bridge,” Smith sighed, “we’re banging our heads against a brick wall here.” We’ve got nothing to go on. I suppose we’d better see what response we get from the news report. At least they have the right number this time. Chalmers made sure of that.”

  “I hope we’re not too late sir,” Bridge said.

  Chalmers sat down next to Smith.

  “Can I have a word Smith?” he said.

  “If this is what I said to the super this morning I’m not apologising to him. The man’s a liability.”

  “We all know that Smith,” Chalmers said, “but if old Smyth asks, you’ve had a real bollocking from me ok?”

  “Ok sir,” Smith said, “thanks. What do we do now?”

  “Wait and see what the news report brings out of the woodwork I suppose. Feels like déjà vu doesn’t it?”

  “Can I make a suggestion sir?” Smith said.

  “Go for it Smith.”

  “Let’s get everybody back here at six tomorrow morning. Make an early start. Look at them all. They’re all exhausted. They’re no use to anyone like this. Let them get a good nights sleep and we’ll start afresh tomorrow.”

  “Good idea Smith,” Chalmers agreed, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  The rain was pelting down as Smith drove home. He had promised Lucy a meal out but he felt exhausted. All he felt like was a hot bath and a warm bed. He parked outside his house and rubbed his eyes. As he locked the car he could hear barking from inside his house. That’s strange, he thought, Theakston hardly ever barked. He opened the door and went inside. Theakston was still barking. Smith went to see what was going on. Theakston was barking at the open window in the living room that looked out onto the back garden. Lucy was standing next to him.

  “He’s been barking at that window for most of the day,” She said, “I don’t know what’s wrong with him.”

  “Come here boy,” Smith said but the dog just stared at the window.

  Smith walked over and closed the window. Theakston stopped barking immediately.

  “I don’t understand this dog sometimes,” Smith said.

  “How was your day?” Lucy asked.

  She put her arms around him and hugged him tightly.

  “Exhausting,” Smith replied, “we’re no closer to finding Whitton. Did anything exciting happen here while I was away?”

  “Nothing,” Lucy said, “I took a walk around the city but I had to come home when it started to rain. Some guy from the council came to check on a water leak but it turned out to be a false alarm. Are we still on for the meal out?”

  “Of course,” Smith sighed, “do you mind if we just go to the Hog’s Head though? I feel like somewhere warm and cosy.”

  “Sounds perfect,” Lucy smiled.

  “I need a shower,” Smith said, “I’ll be ten minutes.”

  “Do you mind if I join you?” Lucy said, “I’ll rub your back if you like.”

  “Did you mean what you said on the phone this morning?” Lucy asked as she rubbed shampoo into Smith’s hair.

  “I love you Lucy,” Smith said, “I think I always have done.”

  He kissed her on the lips. She pulled him closer to her.

  Theakston started to bark again downstairs.

  “What is wrong with that dog?” Smith said.

  “Ignore him,” Lucy ordered.

  She put her hand on the base of his spine.

  Theakston’s barking was getting louder.

  “Bloody dog,” Smith said. He was getting annoyed now. He got out of the shower and dried himself off.

  “Come here you idiot,” he shouted down the stairs.

  Theakston bounded up the stairs and collapsed on the bath mat. Smith shook his head and patted the dog on the head.

  It was starting to rain when they stepped outside. As soon as Smith had locked the front door behind him, Theakston started to bark again.

  “I don’t
know what’s got into that dog,” Smith said.

  He opened the door again and Theakston ran out and sat at Lucy’s feet.

  “I think he wants to come with us,” Lucy laughed, “is that ok?”

  “I suppose we don’t have much choice,” Smith sighed, “crazy dog.”

  The Hog’s Head was busier than usual as Smith, Lucy and Theakston walked in. Marge was pouring beer behind the bar.

  “Jason,” she smiled, “how are you?”

  “I’m fine Marge,” Smith said, “Two pints of Theakstons please.”

  “Aren’t you going to introduce me to your friend?”

  “Sorry Marge,” Smith said, “this is Lucy. She’s an old friend from Australia.”

  “Nice to meet you Lucy,” Marge said, “Jason’s a terrible liar. I’ve got eyes in my head. I can see from the way you two look at each other that you’re not just friends. It’s about time anyway.”

  “Marge,” Smith could feel he was blushing, “can we have a couple of menus please. I’m having a steak and ale pie but I don’t know if Lucy will have the same.”

  Smith’s phone started to ring in his pocket.

  “What now?” he said.

  “Answer it,” Lucy insisted, “it might be important.”

  Smith took out the phone. It was Chalmers.

  “Smith,” Chalmers said, “get over to the station right away. We’ve got a positive lead. I’ll tell you about it when you get here.”

  “Shit,” Smith said.

  “The meal out’s over isn’t it?” Lucy smiled.

  “Sorry,” Smith said, “I have to get to the station immediately.”

  He stood up to leave.

  “I don’t feel like staying here on my own,” Lucy said, “I’ll keep Theakston company at home.”

  The rain had stopped when they left The Hog’s Head.

  “I’m so sorry Lucy,” Smith said as they walked home, “Once this nightmare is all over, I’m all yours.”

  “It’s your job,” Lucy said, “and Whitton is a friend.”

  “You’re an amazing woman Lucy,” Smith said.

  They stood outside Smith’s house. Smith put his arms around Lucy and held her tight. He opened the door for her and Theakston ran inside to find something to eat.