“I love you,” Smith said.
He kissed her. He did not want to let her go.
“You’d better go,” Lucy said, “I love you too Jason.”
As he drove away, Smith saw that Lucy was still standing in the doorway. A warm feeling engulfed him. He had never felt like this with anybody before.
SEVENTY
BURTON COMPONENTS
There was a buzz of anticipation when he arrived at the station. Everybody was there. Thompson and Bridge were putting on bullet proof vests.
“I’ve never worn one of these things before,” Bridge said. He was fumbling with the straps. Thompson helped him to put it on. Smith looked at his watch. It was nine thirty. He spotted Chalmers. He was talking to a woman in reception. She had a young boy with her. Smith recognised the woman. She worked at the newsagents. The boy looked terrified.
“What have we got?” Smith asked Chalmers.
“This young man here is Tommy Richmond,” Chalmers said, “His mother brought him here.”
“Good evening,” Smith said to the woman, “what can you tell us?”
“This little bugger decided to bunk off school on Wednesday,” Mrs Richmond said, “me and his dad have to work so we knew nothing about it until just now. He pretended to have head lice. There’s a lot of it going about at the moment what with the weather warming up and everything.”
“Please Mrs Richmond,” Chalmers said calmly, “tell detective Smith what you told me.”
“Tommy told me he went to the old industrial estate off the Eastwood Road,” Mrs Richmond said, “god knows what he was doing there. Anyway he said he was outside one of the derelict warehouses when he saw something inside.”
“What did you see Tommy?” Smith asked the boy.
Tommy Richmond just stared with a terrified look on his face.
“He told me he thought he saw a person sitting on a chair inside,” Mrs Richmond continued, “and then a man grabbed him from behind. Tommy managed to run away but he’s been acting strange ever since. When he saw the news last night he began to act even funnier but it was only after the news earlier this evening that I realised that there was something really wrong. It took me over an hour to get it out of him. He recognised the man that kidnapped the police woman. I dragged him down here kicking and screaming straight away. I told him you would lock him up for bunking off school.”
“That won’t be necessary,” Smith said.
He looked at the boy. He looked absolutely petrified.
“Can I have a word with him in private?” Smith said.
“He won’t talk to you,” Mrs Richmond said.
“Tommy,” Smith said, “we can talk in my office.”
Tommy did not say anything.
Smith walked over to the drinks machine in the corner and bought a coke. He walked back and handed it to Tommy.
“It’ll only take five minutes Tommy,” Smith said, “after that you can go home. You could be a hero.”
Tommy just stared at him.
“Please,” Smith said, “we really need your help.”
He walked off.
Tommy shrugged his shoulders and followed Smith to his office.
“You can sit in my chair,” Smith said. He closed his office door behind him and sat in the chair opposite Tommy.
“I used to bunk school all the time when I was your age,” Smith said, “I used to go down to the beach. Do you mind if I have a sip of your coke?”
Tommy handed him the can of coke. Smith opened it and took a sip. He put the can on the desk in front of them.
“You’re being very brave Tommy,” Smith said, “you could be saving the life of a friend of mine.”
“You sound funny,” Tommy said eventually.
“So do you,” Smith smiled, “can you tell me where this warehouse is?”
“Just off the Eastwood Road,” Tommy replied, “it’s in the old industrial estate. I wasn’t doing anything there. Honest.”
The boy was becoming agitated again.
“Listen to me Tommy,” Smith said, “I’m not interested in what you were doing there. Do you think you could show us where it is?”
“I don’t think my mum will let me,” Tommy replied, “she’s very cross.”
“I’ll talk to her,” Smith said, “are you sure the man you saw was the same man that was on the TV news?”
“I’m certain. He had scary blue eyes and when he spoke he sounded funny like you.”
Smith felt a warm feeling surge through his body. We’ve got him, he thought.
“Do you want to drive in a police car with the sirens blaring?” Smith asked.
“Cool,” Tommy said in reply.
Smith stood up.
“You’re going to be a hero Tommy,” Smith said as they walked back to reception, “they might even give you a medal.”
Tommy Richmond smiled for the first time in three days.
“He’s going to show us where the warehouse is,” Smith said to Chalmers.
“No he’s not,” Tommy’s mother said, “he’s going to be punished for this.”
“Not now please Mrs Richmond,” Chalmers said, “we don’t have much time left. This is extremely important.”
“Are we ready?” Smith said.
“Can we talk in private Smith?” Chalmers asked.
They walked outside. It was threatening to rain again. Chalmers took out a cigarette and lit it.
“We’ve got a fire arms unit on hand,” he said, “plus three patrol cars and yourself. I’m going along as well. It leaves a bitter taste in my mouth when one of our own is involved. I want to see that everything goes accordingly.”
“Do you think Fulton will be armed sir?” Smith asked.
“All I know is he’s a dangerous bastard,” Chalmers threw his cigarette on the ground, “the fire arms unit are armed with MP5s and pistols. They will go in first. Have you got that Smith? This isn’t the time for heroics.”
Smith did not reply.
“I said have you got that Smith,” Chalmers repeated, “you might be a pain in the arse but I don’t want to see you get hurt.”
“Understood sir,” Smith lied, “I’ll take the kid with me in my car. He knows where this place is.”
“Put this on,” Chalmers handed Smith a bulletproof jacket when they went back inside, “I’ll see if I can find one for the kid too.”
“Do you have a siren for me too?” Smith asked, “Mine seems to be broken.”
“I’ll get you one,” Chalmers said.
As Smith drove to the abandoned industrial estate his heart was pounding in his chest. He looked at the clock on the dashboard. It was ten thirty. One and a half hours before the twentieth. The date on Whitton’s feet. He hoped they would make it in time. The siren was blaring on his roof. Smith looked in the mirror and saw that Tommy Richmond had a huge smile on his face. He was wearing a bulletproof vest in a police car. He could not wait to tell his friends. The rain was starting to fall again as they drove. The black van of the fire arms unit was following closely behind and the three patrol cars and Chalmers were not far behind them.
Smith parked at the entrance to the industrial estate and switched everything off. The three patrol cars and Chalmers parked next to him. Bridge got out of one of the patrol cars. He had a piece of paper in his hand.
“These are the plans of the industrial estate,” he said.
He laid the plans on the bonnet of Smith’s car.
“The kid said the warehouse is about three hundred metres over there,” Smith said.
He pointed to a building in the distance.
“Burton Components,” Bridge said, “it was an electrical component business. According to the plans there is no other way to get to it apart from this side of the industrial estate but we’d better get a car in position behind it just in case.”
“Good thinking Bridge,” Chalmers said.
The rain was falling heavily now. Smith was already drenched and the bullet proof vest was wei
ghing him down. He walked over to where the firearms unit had parked their van and got in the back.
“We believe that detective Whitton is being held in a warehouse on the other side of the estate,” he said, “Fulton may be armed but we’re not sure. I don’t mean to tell you your jobs but please be aware that one of our officers could be in there so be careful what you shoot at.”
He got out of the van and walked back to his car. He watched as the fire arms unit got out of the van and went through their final checks. He heard on the radio in his car that they were going to surround the whole building and then make their way in. Smith looked at his watch. They had just over an hour to go before the Twentieth of March. He waited. He heard nothing more over the radio. What is taking them so long? He thought. He glanced over and saw Chalmers sitting in his car smoking a cigarette. Why isn’t anybody doing anything?
Smith jumped over the fence and headed towards the abandoned warehouse. The rain was lashing down against his face. He saw the faded sign for Burton Components Pty Ltd. He spotted two of the firearms unit further to his left. They had reached the wall that surrounded the warehouse. Smith walked to where they could not see him and stopped against the wall. He took a deep breath and looked at the wall. It was almost as tall as he was. He walked a few paces and ran towards the wall. He launched himself but the weight of the bulletproof vest held him down. He took off the vest and threw it on the floor. He tried to get over the wall again. This time, he managed to get a leg over the wall and he rolled down onto the other side. He was winded but he got up and looked around him. The firearms unit were nowhere to be seen. He walked carefully towards the derelict building. There were weeds growing everywhere. He took out his phone and used it as a makeshift torch to find his way through the darkness. Most of the windows in the building were broken. He shined the dim light inside the warehouse but all he could make out was emptiness. The building was deserted. He came to the end of the building and turned a corner. He heard a noise, switched off his phone and put it in his pocket. He could make out something about fifty metres ahead of him. Something was moving. He crouched down and watched. He could see drops of rain falling off something shiny. His phone fell out of his pocket with a dull thud. He picked it up but it was too late. The man walked towards him. He had his rife pointed directly at Smith’s chest. It was one of the men from the firearms unit.
“What the hell are you doing here?” the man whispered.
Smith knew him. He was a youngster named Atkinson.
“Find anything?” Smith asked.
“I could have shot you Smith,” Atkinson said, “There’s a door here. It’s old but there’s a brand new lock on it.”
“What’s the plan?” Smith was suddenly feeling dizzy.
“I’ve radioed for backup,” Atkinson replied, “but they’re taking their time.”
Smith looked through one of the windows but it was too dark to see anything.
“Atkinson,” he whispered, “give me your torch.”
“Don’t be stupid,” Atkinson said, “if there’s someone in there he’ll see it.”
“Just give me the torch,” Smith insisted.
Atkinson reluctantly handed Smith a small flashlight. Smith shone it inside the building. It was a small room. It looked like it might have been used as an office at one stage. He could make out a row of filing cabinets against the wall. Filing cabinets, Smith thought, that’s what Webber could make out from the photograph of Whitton that Fulton had sent him. Smith put the flashlight in his left hand and took a few steps back. He faced the window. He smiled at Atkinson and ran towards the window. He held his right shoulder up and crashed through the glass. He winced as he felt a shard of glass slice through his arm. He landed on the floor and banged his head against a filing cabinet.
Smith had the feeling that there was someone else in the room. He could sense it. He switched on the torch and shone it over the whole room. His arm was soaked in blood. He could feel it dripping off his fingers. He saw the back of a chair in the middle of the room. There was something on the chair. He heard a loud crack and the door to the room was kicked in. Two men with rifles rushed in and bright lights filled the room. Whitton was strapped to the chair. Smith could see that her hands were tied behind her back. He looked at her face. He could not tell if she was still alive. He put his ear next to her mouth and could hear soft breathing. He untied the ropes that bound her hands and loosened the leather straps from her legs. He took out his phone.
“We need an ambulance here now,” Smith said to Chalmers, “Whitton’s alive but she’s in a bad way. Fulton is nowhere to be seen.”
SEVENTY ONE
GREEN EYE, BLUE EYE
Smith drove behind the ambulance to York City Hospital. The rain was pouring down now and he had to drive very carefully. He made a mental note to buy some new windscreen wipers when he had the chance. The ambulance was starting to leave him behind. He could just make out the flashing lights in the distance. Smith was overcome with relief. Fulton had disappeared but Whitton had been found and she was going to be alright. He was looking forward to getting home and seeing Lucy again. Fulton has finished, he thought, we can put all of this behind us. He turned left into the hospital grounds and parked in a spot by the entrance. It was a parking bay reserved for a Doctor Essien. The ambulance with Whitton in it had beaten him there and was nowhere to be seen. He got out of the car and ran inside. Bridge was standing by the reception desk. He was talking to a nurse. He had travelled with Whitton in the ambulance.
“How is she?” Smith asked.
“She’s very weak,” Bridge replied, “and she’s severely dehydrated. They’re pumping fluids into her as we speak but she’s going to be alright.”
“Has she said anything about what happened?” Smith said.
“Not a word. I don’t think she’ll be saying anything anytime soon. She was completely out of it in the ambulance.”
Smith looked at the clock on the wall. It was half past midnight.
“We found her just in time,” he said, “It’s the twentieth already.”
He took out his phone and dialled Lucy’s number. It went straight to voice mail.
“Lucy,” he said, “its Jason. I guess you’re asleep. I’m at the hospital. We found Whitton and she’s alright. I’ll see you in a few hours.”
He smiled and rang off.
A doctor approached Smith and Bridge.
“Can we see her?” Smith asked.
“Not much point,” the doctor replied, “she’s lights out. She needs to rest.”
“Can I just poke my head round the door and see her?” Smith said, “two minutes?”
“I suppose it won’t hurt,” the doctor said, “she’s a tough one that one. She’s been through a lot but it looks like she’ll make a full recovery. You’re lucky you found her when you did though.”
“You don’t know how right you are,” Smith mused, “which ward is she in?”
“Ward nine. She has a room to herself.”
The doctor looked at the blood on Smith’s arm where the glass had sliced it open.
“You should get that looked at while you’re here,” he said.
“It’s just a scratch,” Smith insisted, “I’ll put a bandage on it when I get home.”
Smith and Bridge walked past the reception desk and followed the signs for ward nine. A man with a deep gash in his forehead approached them.
“Spare some change for a couple of shots of brandy?” he said, “just to ease the pain.”
Smith walked straight past him.
Whitton was lying on a bed in the corner of the room. A drip was feeding a saline solution into a vein in her arm. She looked so peaceful. Smith walked over and sat on the chair by the bed. Bridge stood at the end of the bed and just stared at her.
“You’re safe now Whitton,” Smith took hold of her hand, “Fulton can’t hurt you anymore. Do you think she can hear me?” He asked Bridge.
“Probably not,” Bridge said.
He looked as though he was about to cry
“It’s all over now,” Smith said, “you were supposed to be the last one.”
Whitton opened her eyes. She sat up in bed and coughed. She tried to say something but her mouth was too dry. Smith poured a glass of water from the jug next to the bed and handed the glass to her. She took a small sip.
“Don’t talk,” Smith said, “you need to rest. We’ll leave you in peace now.”
“It wasn’t me,” Whitton said but her voice was so hoarse Smith could not make out the words.
“It wasn’t me,” Whitton repeated, louder this time.
“What do you mean it wasn’t you?” Smith was confused.
“It wasn’t me that Fulton wanted,” Whitton said.
She sat up further in the bed.
“He whispered something to me before I passed out the last time,” she continued, “He never intended to kill me.”
“What are you talking about?” Smith’s heart started to beat faster.
“He said the last one would rip your heart in two,” Whitton said, “Those were his exact words.”
“I don’t understand,” Smith said, “he wrote the dates on your feet.”
“That was supposed to confuse you,” Whitton said, “to throw you off the scent.”
“If it’s not you then who is it?” Smith asked.
He suddenly felt sick. He could feel the blood drain from his face and his hands started to shake. He stood up and ran out of the room. He ran through the hospital like a lunatic. The drunken man with the head injury stood in his way. Smith ran into him and knocked him to the floor. He carried on running. He ran out to his car, got in and started the engine. He narrowly missed another car as he reversed and headed for the exit.
The last one will rip my heart in two, Smith thought as he drove home. He thought about everything that had happened. The man from the council. There was no report of a water leak, he thought. Theakston had behaved strangely. Lucy was not answering her phone. Please don’t let it be Lucy.
Smith stopped outside his house and got out of the car. He ran up the path to his house and opened the door. The house was in darkness.
The York Trilogy: The First 3 DS Jason Smith Detective novels Page 57
