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

by Stewart Giles

  As he drove to the station, Smith wondered what decision he was going to make when he got there. He had written a letter of resignation over a month ago and it had been in his jacket pocket ever since. He parked in the car park at the station and got out of the car. It was eight in the morning.

  Baldwin, Bridge and Whitton were all standing in the reception area when Smith walked in. They stopped talking the moment they saw him.

  “You three look like you’ve seen a ghost,” Smith said.

  “Morning sir,” DC Whitton said, “are you back at work?”

  Whitton was Smith’s closest colleague. She was the one he preferred to work with over everybody else.

  “Something like that,” Smith sighed.

  He patted the resignation letter in his pocket.

  “Is Chalmers in?” he added.

  “In his office,” DC Bridge replied, “but I have to warn you, he’s in a foul mood.”

  “When is he not in a foul mood?” Smith said and walked down the corridor.

  Chalmers’ office door was closed. Smith knocked three times and waited. He knocked again.

  “Go away,” a voice said from behind the door.

  Smith smiled and opened the door.

  “Morning sir,” he said, “beautiful day.”

  “What’s so beautiful about it?” Chalmers snarled, “What are you doing here?”

  “Nice to see you too sir,” Smith said, “I think its time I made up my mind.”

  “About bloody time. What’s it been now? Six weeks?”

  “Longer sir,” Smith said, “but I think I’ve made a decision.”

  He took out the letter of resignation and handed it to Chalmers.

  “This is my resignation letter sir,” Smith said, “I’ve been carrying it around for weeks. Could you throw it in the bin for me sir? I want to get back to work.”

  Chalmers tore up the letter and threw it in the bin.

  “What’s brought this on?” he asked, “I thought we’d lost you there for a moment.”

  “I came to see The Ghoul yesterday,” Smith said, “it got me thinking. He didn’t kill that student. Thompson arrested the wrong man again.”

  “I thought so too at first,” Chalmers said, “I mean, I play poker with the guy twice a month but the evidence we have is pretty damning. We can’t just let him go because he’s a friend.”

  “I realise that sir,” Smith said, “just let me do a bit more digging. Something’s not right here; I can feel it.”

  “Why do you always have to do this to me Smith?” Chalmers sighed.

  “I knew you’d understand sir. I’ll take Whitton with me.”

  “Whitton’s busy,” Chalmers said, “her and Thompson are up to their ears in this cash machine robbery gang. They’ve hit three cash machines already this month. Take Bridge with you.”

  “I’d prefer Whitton sir. Bridge can take over the cash machine gang. Him and Thompson like each other.”

  “I’m going to regret this,” Chalmers said.

  “Thanks sir,” Smith said, “does this mean I’m back at work?”

  “Looks like it. I’ll have to inform the super of course. He’s not going to like it; he was actually looking forward to the prospect of a Smith free station.”

  “Old fool,” Smith said, “I’ll get started then.”

  Smith first went to his own office and sat down in front of the computer. While he waited for the computer to boot up he glanced around the room. It was as if he had not been away. Everything was as he remembered it. He opened up his e mails. There were sixty eight new messages. Most of them were work related but as he scrolled down, one of them caught his eye. It was from a law firm in Perth, Australia. Smith quickly read the e mail and then read it again, more carefully this time. It was in connection with Lucy Maclean’s last will and testament. The only family Lucy had left when she died was an older brother. His name was Matt and Smith had only met him twice. The first time had been in London eleven years earlier when Smith had first come to England and the second time was at Lucy’s funeral. Smith and Matt had got on well but after the funeral, Matt had had rather too much to drink and told Smith in no uncertain terms that he blamed him for everything. The e mail was to inform Smith that Lucy’s will was being contested by her brother. Smith was puzzled as to what this all had to do with him. He looked back through his e mails and noticed one that was dated the thirteenth of April. Smith had been away at that time. It was from the same law firm. Smith gasped when he read the e mail. Lucy had made him the sole heir in her will. Her husband had been a very successful business man before he died and he had left Lucy a substantial amount of money. Smith was due to inherit an estate worth close to one hundred million US dollars. He did not know what to think. Lucy had not mentioned anything about it while she was alive. Smith re-read the latest e mail. He had completed two years of a law degree some years earlier and some of the legal terms were vaguely familiar. Lucy’s brother had formally lodged a contestation on the grounds of lack of testamentary capacity. He claimed that Lucy did not understand the enormity of what she was doing when she drafted the will. Smith felt himself becoming angry. He was surprised at what Lucy had done but there had been nothing wrong with her mind. He did not know what to do. He did not want the money and he certainly did not need this kind of stress right now. He thought carefully for a moment and started to write a reply. ‘After careful consideration,’ he wrote, ‘I have decided that it is inappropriate for me to benefit from Lucy Maclean’s will. Therefore I would advise you to make the necessary arrangements for the estate to go entirely to Lucy’s brother, Matthew Maclean.’ Smith knew that it would not be that simple. Legal affairs seldom were but at least it was a start. He read again what he had written, closed down the computer and went to find Whitton.

  Whitton was in the canteen. She was drinking coffee with DS Thompson. They were poring through a huge pile of paper.

  “Whitton,” Smith said, “you’re coming with me. We’ve got a murder to figure out.”

  “Whitton’s busy,” Thompson said, “have you finally decided to come back to work?”

  “Somebody has to sort out the balls up with that student murder,” Smith said, “You’ve arrested the wrong man yet again Thompson. Don’t you get tired of nabbing innocent people?”

  “Rubbish Smith,” Thompson said, “the evidence will put him away.”

  “I’m going to find out what really happened,” Smith said, “Chalmers has Okayed it. Come on Whitton.”

  “What about the cash machine gang?” Whitton asked.

  “Chalmers is putting Bridge on it,” Smith replied, “let’s get out of here before Thompson arrests us for something we didn’t do.”

  “Are you ok sir?” Whitton asked as they walked to Smith’s car, “you seem a bit stressed.”

  “I’ve just given away a pile of money Whitton.”

  “You did what?”

  “It’s a long story. I’ll tell you about it later.”

  Smith drove out of the car park and headed for the student’s house.

  “What have you been doing all this time sir?” Whitton asked as they drove.

  “Walking the moors,” Smith said, “Drinking. Thinking. Trying to forget, that kind of stuff. You know what its like?”

  “And you’re back to normal now?”

  “I don’t think I’ll ever be back to normal Whitton,” Smith sighed, “but I have to start somewhere. This is the place here. The Ghoul has two of these houses.”

  “He didn’t do this did he sir?”

  “I’m positive he didn’t Whitton,” Smith said, “he might be a bit odd but he’s not a murderer. Besides, when did Thompson ever arrest the right man?”

  Whitton laughed.

  “It’s good to have you back sir,” she said.

  They got out of the car and walked up to the house. It was a three storey face brick building. One of the windows on the second floor was broken. Smith knocked on the door. It was answered almost imm
ediately by a woman with pink hair. Smith thought she could not be older than twenty. She had a very pale complexion.

  “Good morning miss,” Smith said, “I’m detective Smith and this is detective Whitton.”

  He took out his badge. Whitton did the same.

  “Is this about the murder?” the woman asked.

  “Yes it is,” Smith replied, “can we come in?”

  “It’s a free country,” the woman said, “the place is a bit of a mess though.”

  Smith took an instant dislike to her. He hated students.

  “Brian found him in the kitchen,” the woman said, “there was blood everywhere.”

  “What’s your name miss?” Smith asked.

  “Why do you need to know my name?” the woman said.

  “I generally like to know the names of people I’m talking to,” Smith said, “It’s a funny trait of mine.”

  The woman shrugged her shoulders.

  “Its Carrie,” she said, “like the Stephen King book. Carrie Burton. Do you want anything to drink? I’ll have to wash a few cups though; nobody ever washes the dishes in this place.”

  “No thanks,” Smith said, “you said Brian found the body in the kitchen? Is Brian at home now?”

  “He’s at work,” Carrie replied, “He has a job at a supermarket round the corner.”

  “What time will he be back?”

  “I have no idea.”

  Smith was starting to get annoyed.

  “How many people live here?” Whitton asked.

  “There are five of us,” Carrie replied, “at least there were. Now that Toby’s dead there are four.”

  Smith was astonished at how calm this young woman after one of her housemates had been brutally killed in their house.

  “So there’s you,” Smith said, “Brian and who else?”

  “George and Lisa,” Carrie said, “the love birds.”

  “And where are they now?”

  “They’re not here.”

  “I can see that,” Smith said curtly, “where are they?”

  “Europe, Australia, Thailand. I don’t know. They went off travelling somewhere. They left a couple of weeks ago.”

  “What are you studying at the University?” Whitton asked.

  “Media studies,” Carrie replied, “the term has finished already. I should really look for a summer job.”

  “So you’ll be staying in York for the summer?” Smith asked.

  “I’ve got nowhere else to go.”

  “What about family?” Whitton said.

  “I’ve got no family,” Carried replied, “my mothers dead and my father might as well be.”

  “Where were you on Friday?” Smith asked.

  “I spent the whole weekend with some friends in Newcastle. The night life there is so much more happening. York is such a drag sometimes.”

  The front door opened and a slightly chubby man with bad acne walked through to the kitchen. He smiled nervously at Whitton.

  “You must be Brian,” Smith said.

  “Can I go now?” Carrie said, “I need to send a few e mails.”

  “Of course,” Smith said, “but we may need to talk to you again.”

  “Whatever,” Carrie said and walked up the stairs.

  “Brian,” Smith said, “we’re from the police. We need to ask you a few questions.”

  “Can I sit down?” Brian asked. He was shaking.

  “Feel free,” Smith said, “are you alright?”

  “I’m still a bit shook up about Toby,” Brian said.

  He sat down at the kitchen table.

  “You were the one who found him weren’t you?” Smith asked, “What time was that?”

  “About three in the morning. I’d been at the student union. They had a brilliant hypnotist there. I’ve already said all this to the other detectives.”

  “I just want to go over it once more,” Smith lied, “you walked into the kitchen and then what?”

  “There was no power,” Brian said, “nobody ever thinks to buy electricity but I keep some for emergencies in my room. I put the card in the meter and switched the lights on. Then I went to the kitchen to make coffee. Toby was lying right there.”

  He pointed to the floor next to the table.

  “Then what did you do?” Smith asked.

  “I was in shock I think. Toby was just lying there. His throat was covered in blood and there was more blood on the floor.”

  “So he was lying right there?”

  Smith pointed to the same spot. He turned round and walked out of the room. He walked back and approached the kitchen sink. It was full of dirty pans and plates. Whitton looked at him as though he had lost his mind.

  “I’ll explain later,” Smith said to her, “what did you do then?” he asked Brian.

  “I phoned the police of course,” Brian said, “Toby had been killed in our kitchen. There were shoe prints in the blood on the floor. I waited for the police to arrive and that’s when I noticed the ladybirds.”

  “Ladybirds?” Smith was confused.

  “Yes ladybirds. There were loads of them. At first I thought I was seeing things but there were ladybirds in the pool of blood. The police found more on the body. I thought you would have known about the ladybirds.”

  “That’s very odd,” Whitton said, “there have been a lot of ladybirds around but I’m almost positive they’re not attracted to blood.”

  “Did Toby have any enemies?” Smith asked.

  “Probably,” Brian replied almost too quickly, “he was a bit of a radical.”

  “Radical?” Whitton said.

  “Most people thought he was a bit of an arsehole but I got on alright with him. He just had this nasty habit of rubbing people up the wrong way.”

  “I believe he had a bit of an argument with the landlord not so long ago?” Smith said.

  “Toby was being a prat,” Brian said, “He hadn’t paid his rent for months. His parents are loaded. He did it to prove a point.”

  “To prove a point?” Whitton said.

  “Toby was like that. He was always pushing to see how far he could get away with things. When you don’t have to worry about money you can do things like that. He knew that it was almost impossible to get evicted these days so he pushed the landlord as far as he could. I guess he pushed a bit too far this time.”

  “What do you think of your landlord?” Smith asked.

  “He’s cool,” Brian said, “he’s always been very chilled out and he fixes anything that needs fixing very quickly. I like him. I still can’t believe he could kill someone.”

  “Me neither,” Smith said, “When you came home did you notice anything unusual about the house?”

  “Unusual,” Brian said.

  “Any signs of a forced entry? Windows open that aren’t normally open?”

  “There was no sign of a break in,” Brian said, “the police had a good look through the place and they couldn’t find anything either.”

  “And the only people with keys are you, Carrie, George and Lisa?”

  “And the landlord,” Brian added.

  “So George and Lisa are away and Carrie spent the weekend in Newcastle. That means you were the only one with a key to the house that stayed in York last weekend.”

  “And the landlord,” Brian said again, “what’s this all about? I’ve already answered all these questions. I thought you’d already arrested the landlord for this.”

  “I’m just trying to clear up a few loose ends,” Smith said, “you said that Toby’s parents are very well off. What do they do?”

  “His dad’s a stockbroker. He makes a mint down in London.”

  “So Toby is from London then?”

  “No,” Brian replied, “he’s from York. His dad commutes every day on the train. I don’t know how he does it every day. They have one of those fancy houses by the river.”

  “So why didn’t Toby just stay there?” Whitton asked.

  “You don’t live with your parent
s while you’re at University,” Brian said, “It’s not cool. That’s why Toby rented this place.”

  “Thanks Brian,” Smith said, “if you think of anything else that might be relevant, give me a call.”

  He handed Brian a business card.

  “Do you have the address of Toby’s parents?” Smith added, “I need to speak to them.”

  “They live off the Marlborough Grove,” Brian said, “They own two adjoining villas overlooking the river. I’d never be able to afford something like that in ten lifetimes.”

  Smith thought back to the e mail from the law firm in Perth. He had turned down enough money to enable him to buy anything he wanted.

  “Thanks Brian,” Smith said again, “we’ll be in touch.”

  “What was that performance in the kitchen earlier?” Whitton asked as they drove towards the river.

  “What performance?” Smith said.

  “When you walked out of the kitchen, came back in and walked to the sink. That was just weird.”