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

by Stewart Giles

  “Right now,” Smith said, “what I really feel like is a drink. A very large one.”

  “Sounds good,” she said, “do you have anywhere in mind?”

  “Somewhere where nobody knows me,” Smith said.

  “I know the perfect place,” she said, “The Lady’s Arms. It’s a quiet little place on the old Foss Road. I can meet you there in twenty minutes.”

  “My cars in for repairs,” Smith said.

  “Then I’ll pick you up. Where are you?”

  “Just about to leave the station. It’s been a really crap day.”

  “I’ll see you in two minutes.”

  She rang off.

  Smith sighed. A drink is probably not the best idea at the moment, he thought but shrugged off the thought. He had a day from hell in front of him.

  Whitton and Bridge walked towards the doors. They were about to leave.

  “Do you need a lift home sir?” Whitton asked.

  “Thanks Whitton,” Smith said, “but I’m going for a drink with Doctor Wood. She’s picking me up.”

  “I don’t believe you sir,” she said, “you should be careful of her. She’s not right in the head.”

  “Rubbish Whitton,” Smith said, “there’s nothing wrong with her. She’s good company that’s all. Besides, I really feel like a drink.”

  “It’s your funeral sir,” Whitton said, “I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  She walked off shaking her head.

  Karen Wood walked in thirty seconds later. She was wearing a pair of jeans and a green blouse. Her hair was not in the usual pony tail. Smith smiled. She really is a beautiful woman, he thought, Whitton has got it all wrong.

  “Shall we go,” Karen Wood said, “I’m starving.”

  “What I need is a drink,” Smith said, “but I suppose I could eat something too.”

  She led him to her car. Smith smiled when he noticed she had parked in Superintendant Jeremy Smyth’s parking spot.

  “Rough day?” she said as she drove out of the car park.

  “One of the worst,” Smith said, “and I’ve got a feeling tomorrow is going to be even worse. I got a bit of a bollocking about the fight at the funeral and tomorrow I’ve got to persuade the press that York police are working in the best interests of the public. To top it all off I’ve got a lunch date with a shrink to get through first.”

  The expression on Karen Wood’s face changed. She looked like she was terrified of something. The colour had drained from her face.

  “Are you alright?” Smith asked, “you look like you’re about to pass out.”

  “I’m fine,” she said, “I’ve got a slight phobia of psychiatrists that’s all.”

  The colour started to return to her face.

  “I would have thought that was a pretty normal phobia,” Smith said, “I don’t believe in any of their bullshit anyway. I’m only going because I’ve been ordered.”

  “It’s not really a fear of the shrinks themselves,” she said, “it’s more the power they yield. It’s a fear of being locked up and forced to take medication because of their so called expert opinions. Believe me, mental health in this country is still quite barbaric.”

  Smith looked at her in amazement. She smiled at him.

  “I don’t know where that came from,” she said, “I mean, I’ve never even been to see a shrink. This is the place here.”

  She parked outside an old white building and got out of the car.

  “They do the best fish and chips in the world here,” she said.

  “As long as they’ve got booze,” Smith said, “I really need a drink.

  The interior of the Lady’s Arms reminded Smith of his local, The Hog’s Head. There was a log fire in the corner of the room and the whole place had a rustic feel to it. Karen Wood had made a good choice. He headed straight for the bar.

  “Double Jack Daniels,” he said to the man behind the bar, “and a pint of Theakstons to wash it down with please.”

  Karen Wood started to laugh.

  “I’ll have the same,” she said.

  “Sorry,” Smith said, “I forgot my manners there. I’m used to drinking on my own.”

  The barman poured the drinks and put them on the counter in front of them.

  “Cheers,” Smith held up the Jack Daniels and drank it in one go.

  The barman looked at him suspiciously.

  “Shall we go to a table?” Smith said.

  He chose a table on the far side of the room.

  “What happened to you earlier?” he said when they sat down.

  “What do you mean?” Karen Wood said.

  “At the funeral. One minute you were there and then you were gone.”

  “Oh,” she said, “sorry, I had to leave. Something came up.”

  Smith did not press her any further. He took a long sip of his beer.

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said and smiled.

  Karen Wood did not react.

  “I must be losing my touch,” he said.

  “What do you mean?” she said.

  “You’re not even laughing at my jokes.”

  “I didn’t realise you’d made a joke,” she said.

  “Just what the doctor ordered,” he said again, “you’re a doctor aren’t you?”

  “Oh yes,” she said, “yes I am. I don’t really have much of a sense of humour. It must be all the time I spend around insects.”

  They sat in silence for a while. The pub was slowly filling up with people. Smith was grateful he did not recognise any of them.

  “How did you find out where I live?” Smith asked eventually.

  “What do you mean?” Karen Wood seemed to be on her guard.

  “You turned up at my house with breakfast,” Smith said, “how did you know where I lived.”

  “The internet is a marvellous tool,” she said, “you can find out anything you want on the internet. For instance, I know you were born in Fremantle, Western Australia in eighty two and that besides being a police detective, you’re a pretty good guitar player.”

  “Impressive,” Smith said, “I’ll have to give it a try.”

  “Give what a try?”

  “This internet stuff,” Smith said, “maybe I should see what I can find out about you. It’s only fair isn’t it? You looked me up.”

  “You won’t find anything interesting,” she said, “are you hungry?”

  “I am actually,” Smith said, “I’m going to try those fish and chips you spoke about.”

  “I’ll order for us then,” She said, “you have to order food at the bar.”

  She stood up and went to order. Smith watched her. He did not know how to figure her out. Whitton’s right, he thought, there is something a bit strange about her. The uneasy feeling he had woken up with earlier in the week had come back. There was something not right but he still could not figure out what it was. He looked over at Karen Wood. She was standing at the bar. She was talking on a mobile phone. From the expression on her face Smith could tell it was not a friendly conversation. She returned to the table with two more pints of beer.

  “Thanks,” Smith said, “are you alright? You look a bit agitated.”

  “My ex husband,” she said, “He reckons he misses me. Can you believe it? He misses me. It was his idea to get divorced in the first place.”

  Smith did not know what to say. He was not really the sympathetic type.

  “What are you going to do?” he said.

  “Get drunk and forget about it,” she said.

  She took a long drink from her glass.

  “Anyway,” she said, “I don’t want to talk about it. Let’s talk about you DS Smith.”

  “I thought you knew everything already,” Smith said, “You got it all from the net.”

  “I’m sure there’s parts they missed,” she said, “why is a twenty eight year old handsome Australian still single?”

  Smith’s phone rang in his pocket. He took it out and looked at the screen.

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sp; “There’s your answer,” he said, “its work. Whenever this thing rings it usually means that any plans I’ve made are buggered.”

  He answered the phone.

  “Smith,” he said.

  “Sorry to bother you sir,” it was Baldwin.

  “What’s wrong Baldwin?” Smith asked.

  “Chalmers insisted I got hold of you right away sir,” Baldwin said, “that photographer who was attacked at the funeral has died.”

  Smith was not sure he had heard her properly.

  “Say that again,” he said.

  “The photographer who Barry Philips assaulted has died. His girlfriend found him in their back garden. He had just collapsed and died. Looks like he had a brain haemorrhage.”

  “This isn’t happening,” Smith said, more to himself than anybody else.

  “I’m afraid it is sir,” Baldwin said, “Barry Philips is going to be arrested for manslaughter but nobody seems to know where he is.”

  “He’s just buried his son Baldwin,” Smith said, “he’ll be at home. They were holding the wake there. He told me.”

  “He’s not there sir,” Baldwin said, “him and his wife left in separate cars. He hasn’t been seen since the funeral.”

  “Shit,” Smith said, “this is all we need right now.

  “Are you coming in sir?” Baldwin asked.

  “I’m busy,” Smith said, “let me know if you find Philips.”

  He rang off. He knew he should not have spoken to Baldwin like that but he was getting tired of feeling like the only police officer in York.

  “Where were we?” he said to Karen Wood.

  “You were explaining why you’re still single,” she said.

  “What woman in her right mind would put up with this?” he pointed to his phone. “It doesn’t matter if its one in the afternoon or one in the morning, there’s always the thought in the back of my mind that the phone will ring and I’ll have to stop whatever I’m doing and get to work.”

  “It can’t be that bad,” she said.

  “Its worse,” Smith said, “I had the first holiday in seven years earlier this year but I had to come back early because of work.”

  “Why don’t you think about doing something else?”

  “I thought about nothing else for the best part of six weeks when I was on sick leave but what would I do? I’m a detective sergeant. I’ll probably be a detective sergeant until I die.”

  “Surely you’ll be promoted some time in the future?” she said.

  “People like me don’t get promoted,” Smith said, “my record is not exactly squeaky clean. I have a nasty habit of ignoring the rules when there are better ways to get results.”

  The barman placed the fish and chips on the table in front of them.

  “Looks great,” Smith said.

  He finished the beer in his glass.

  “Can I get you another one?” the man asked.

  “No thanks,” Smith said.

  “I thought you were here to have a drink,” Karen Wood said.

  “I’m afraid I’m going to have to eat and leave,” Smith said, “whether I want to or not, we have to find out where Barry Philips is. I feel responsible somehow. I could have stopped him from beating the crap out of that photographer.”

  He took a mouthful of the fish and chips.

  “This is delicious,” he said, “I haven’t had fish and chips like this for ages.”

  They ate in silence for a while.

  “Will I see you again?” Karen Wood asked when they had finished eating.

  “I don’t know,” Smith said, “I’m not sure it’s a good idea.”

  “Why not?” she looked genuinely hurt, “don’t you like me?”

  “You’re gorgeous,” Smith said, “I don’t think there’s a bloke in this pub that hasn’t looked at you more than once since you walked in. It’s just not a good idea at the moment, what with the murders and everything else that’s going on.”

  His phone started to ring again.

  “See what I mean,” he said.

  He looked at the number on the screen. It was a number he did not recognise. He cancelled the call and dialled another number.

  “I need a taxi from the Lady’s Arms on the Foss Road,” he said, “I’m going to York police station.”

  He ended the call and looked over at Karen Wood. She looked upset.

  “Taxi will be here in five minutes,” he said, “I’m sorry.”

  “I wouldn’t mind you know,” she said, “I wouldn’t mind living in your life. For five years I was married to a complete control freak. My lovely ex husband needed to know where I was twenty four seven. I think it would be quite refreshing to never know what’s going to happen next.”

  “I thought you said he wanted you to get back together again,” Smith said.

  “He was the one who left me,” she said, “he left me for somebody else.”

  “I have to go,” Smith said, “I’m sorry.”

  He stood up and walked towards the door.

  TWENTY

  It was in the taxi on the way to the station that Smith finally realised what had been bothering him for the past couple of days. The taxi driver was a cheerful man in his early sixties and he started chatting as soon as Smith got in the back seat. Smith was not one for small talk but he indulged the driver with mostly one word answers. As the conversation moved on to the benefits of modern technology, Smith almost switched off altogether. The driver, whose name Smith discovered was also Jason talked about how more and more crimes were being solved using social media and mobile phone technology. Something then happened in Smith’s brain. It was as if a sudden spark had set off a whole thought process. He took out his phone and quickly brought up his messages. He opened the message Karen Wood had sent him on the day of Barney Dodd’s murder. The message was left just after Smith had left her at The Hog’s Head. Smith’s heart started to beat faster. The driver had now moved on to the benefits of the royal family but Smith was no longer paying attention. Karen Wood must have sent the message while she was still at The Hog’s Head, Smith thought. He read the message again. He stopped at the part where it said, ‘I heard about the murder at the bar in town.’ Smith thought hard for a moment. How did she know about the murder? How did she know that Barney Dodds had just been killed? He thought carefully about that day. He had agreed to have a drink with her after work. He had met her at The Hog’s Head an hour after leaving the station. She had said there were a few things she needed to do first. Barney Dodds had been found in the gent’s toilet at roughly the same time Smith was waiting for her. Smith started to sweat. In an hour it would have been quite possible for Karen Wood to go to Vibe, kill Barney Dodds, leave through the window, change her clothes and meet him at The Hog’s Head.

  The taxi stopped outside the station and Smith got out. He quickly paid the driver and ran inside. Bridge was already there when Smith ran in.

  “Sir,” Bridge said.

  “Not now Bridge,” Smith said and ran towards his office.

  He closed the door behind him and turned on his computer. While he was waiting for the computer to boot up he took out a notebook and wrote down the series of events while they were still fresh in his head. He had left the station. Karen Wood had left at the same time. They had met an hour later at The Hog’s Head. Half an hour later he had left and decided to buy a pizza. The message from Karen Wood must have been sent while he was driving to the pizza shop. How could she have known about the murder of Barney Dodds? He thought again. Maybe Whitton was right all along. He took out his phone and dialled Grant Webber’s number.

  “What do you want Smith?” Webber answered almost immediately, “I was about to go home.”

  “I need to ask you a question,” Smith said.

  “Make it quick then,” Webber said.

  “Where did you find Doctor Karen Wood?”

  “The bug doctor,” Webber said, “why do you ask?”

  “Just tell me how you got hold of her,
” Smith said.

  “I believe she’s caused quite a stir at the station,” Webber said, “rumour has it that you two are an item.”

  “Webber,” Smith was starting to get annoyed, “how did you find her?”

  “Off the internet of course,” Webber said, “I searched for insect experts and she was the first one that came up. You didn’t exactly give me much time. What’s this all about? She seems to know what she’s talking about.”

  Smith rang off. He typed in ‘Doctor Karen Wood’ in the search bar and waited. There were two Doctor Karen Wood’s listed. One was a medical doctor in Georgia, America and the other was a doctor of literature from Ontario, Canada.

  “Shit,” Smith said.

  He tried to broaden the search. He typed in just ‘Doctor Wood. Insects’ but there was still no mention of Karen Wood. He tried ‘insect experts, York’ but Karen Wood’s name still did not appear. He dialled Webber’s number again.

  “What now Smith?” Webber said.

  “Are you in front of your computer?” Smith asked.

  “I was just about to shut it down,” Webber said.

  “Don’t,” Smith said, “go back in your search history and look for where you found Doctor Karen Wood.”

  There was silence on the line for a few seconds.

  “That’s odd,” Webber said, “she’s not there anymore.”

  “What does it say on the screen?” Smith asked.

  “It says the page you are looking for no longer exists,” Webber said, “It says this may be due to a technical error or it may have been removed. What’s going on Smith?”

  “I don’t know,” Smith said, “but I’ve got a horrible feeling that our bug doctor is not what she seems.”

  He rang off again.

  Smith did not know what to do. Maybe there’s a logical explanation for all this, he thought, surely Karen Wood is not a serial killer. He looked at the computer screen again. He realised he had eight unopened e mails. He opened them and scanned down the list. One of the e mails caught his eye straight away. It was from the law firm in Australia. The mail was to inform him that they had received his decision and they were proceeding accordingly. They warned him that the procedure could be a costly and lengthy one but as he had decided to lay claim to Lucy White’s entire estate he would easily be able to afford it. Smith was confused. This was not what he had instructed them to do. He read the e mail again and then he read the one they had received from him. It had been sent the day before. He could not believe what was written there. He thought back, stood up and ran out of the room.