“I don’t know,” Smith said, “I suppose I expected an old bald man with bad breath.”
“Follow me please,” she said.
She walked quickly up a flight of stairs. Smith followed her reluctantly. She stopped outside a door and unlocked it.
“Don’t worry,” she said, “everybody feels like this at first. I mean, there’s a certain stigma involved with seeing a counsellor isn’t there?”
Smith could feel his heart rate slow down and he started to relax. Phillipa Bryce was not what he had expected at all. He followed her inside the room. She closed the door behind them. The room was tastefully decorated in brown and green. Natural colours, Smith thought, designed to put patients at ease.
“Where’s the couch?” Smith asked.
“You can sit over there,” Phillipa pointed to a leather chair in the corner of the room.
Smith sat down.
“Before we start,” he said, “I’m only here because I was ordered to be here. There’s nothing wrong with my mind.”
Phillipa sat down in the chair behind her desk. She opened up a large file.
“Let’s see what we’re dealing with shall we,” she said.
She smiled at Smith. He found himself smiling back.
“I was involved in an armed robbery,” Smith said, “at no time did it feel like I was in danger. Anyway, its what I get paid to do. I’m perfectly fine.”
“You’ve had quite a year according to this,” she tapped the file with her fingers, “held at gunpoint on a boat, shot in the arm. It says your colleague almost drowned.”
“I managed to rescue her,” Smith said.
“Held at gunpoint by a serial killer,” she ignored his comment, “girlfriend killed in your bathroom.”
Smith winced at the thought of Lucy lying on his bathroom floor with her throat cut open.
“And now,” she continued, “less than a week after returning to work you’re caught in the middle of an armed robbery. You seem to have a habit of being in the wrong place at the wrong time. How does that make you feel?”
“How do I feel?” Smith said, “How do I feel? I feel like a drink. How about you give me a good bill of mental health and we go and have a drink? I’ve got a press conference later this afternoon. A few drinks might make it more bearable.”
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” Phillipa smiled.
She continued to look through his file.
“I see that you’ve been suspended twice in the past year alone,” she said, “what happened?”
“What does it say there?” Smith asked.
“It says the first time was for almost killing a suspect with your bare hands. It says it was self defence but you were still suspended. The second suspension was for insubordination.”
“This is bullshit,” Smith said. He stood up.
“Please sit down,” Phillipa said softly.
Smith sat down again.
“Firstly,” he said, “this suspect that I supposedly almost killed was a real nasty piece of work. Not only did he rob my house, he was responsible for the death of my Gran. She was mugged and she fell and broke her hip. She died a couple of weeks later from pneumonia.”
Phillipa did not say anything.
“The second time I was suspended was because I told my superintendant to go and fuck himself. The man’s an imbecile.”
Smith thought he detected a slight smile on Doctor Bryce’s face.
“Do you think you’re ready to be back at work again?” she asked.
“Of course,” Smith said, “what else would I do? I’ve just had six weeks away from work and it did me no good whatsoever.”
“Do you still think about that night when you found your girlfriend dead in your bathroom?”
“I thought this was supposed to be about the armed robbery,” Smith said.
“Please just answer my question,” she said, “do you still think about that night?”
“Pretty much all the time,” Smith said, “it was my fault wasn’t it? People I get close to seem to end up dead. That doesn’t mean I’m a raving lunatic though does it?”
“No,” she said, “not at all.”
“Can you tell my Super that then?” Smith said, “I need to get back to work. We have a serial killer out there somewhere.”
“What did you do while you were off work?” Phillipa asked him.
“Not much,” Smith said, “during the day I walked the moors around Danby with my dog and at night I drank myself into a stupor. It stopped the nightmares.”
Phillipa wrote something down in a notebook.
“You’re very honest detective,” she said, “it’s actually quite refreshing.”
Smith looked her in the eyes. He noticed she had similar coloured eyes to Whitton. They were an unusual green colour.
“Doctor,” he said, “I’ve got nothing to hide. I grew up in Fremantle in Western Australia and for the first sixteen years of my life I was a perfectly happy, normal kid.”
“Then what happened?” she asked him.
“I found my dad hanging from a tree in our garden,” Smith said, “it was Christmas Day. You could say my life changed for the worse after that.”
“You don’t need to tell me this,” Phillipa said.
“I thought that’s what you shrinks want to know about. Childhood and stuff like that.”
“That’s only in the movies,” she said.
“Anyway,” Smith said, “a year later, my sister disappeared from a beach near our house. We thought she was dead. My mother had already decided she was a lesbian by then and she shipped me off to York to stay with my Gran. I’ve been here ever since.”
“You said you thought your sister was dead,” Phillipa said. She emphasised the word ‘thought’.
“We thought she’d drowned or been taken by a shark. In a way she was taken but by a more sinister shark. A shark by the name of Wolfie. I found her again last year in Tallinn. I had a few guns pointed at my head then too. So you see, I’m no stranger to guns pointing at me.”
“This is unbelievable,” she said.
“It’s all true,” Smith said.
“What I mean is it’s unbelievable that you’ve come through this so well. It’s remarkable actually.”
“Shall we go for that drink now then?” Smith said.
She smiled at him.
“Can I ask you a question now?” Smith said, “It’s about a case I’m working on at the moment.”
“Go ahead,” Phillipa said.
“Somebody is killing people,” Smith said, “to be more specific, somebody is killing men. Five are dead so far and I’ve got a feeling that’s not the end of it. They all had their throats cut and the weirdest part of all is they all had ladybirds scattered on their bodies.”
“Your killer is definitely a woman,” Phillipa said without hesitation.
“That’s exactly what I’m beginning to think,” Smith said, “why do you think she’s doing this?”
“Without knowing all the details it’s hard to say. People kill for all sorts of reasons; war, self defence, acts of rage but the fact that ladybirds have been found on all the bodies leads me to think that this is a case of a classic act of revenge.”
“Revenge for what?” Smith said.
“I can’t say,” she replied, “in my opinion the ladybirds represent something in the mind of the killer but they’re also symbolic in the way that this woman, let’s assume it is a woman, wants it known that these men have been killed for a specific reason.”
“That’s what I thought,” Smith said, “so if we can find out what links all these men together we’ll be closer to finding out who did this.”
“I suppose so,” She agreed, “and it’s pretty clear to me that you’re more than capable of doing your job. I’m going to state on my report that you seem to have suffered no serious effects whatsoever from the armed robbery.”
“Thanks,” Smith said, “can I ask you one more question?”
> “Fire away.”
“There’s a woman who helped us at the beginning of the investigation,” he said, “a doctor of entomology. Doctor Karen Wood.”
Phillipa raised her eyebrows when she heard the name Karen Wood.
“She helped us with information about the ladybirds,” Smith said, “she seemed to know what she was talking about. Our top forensics guy found her from the internet but when we tried to search for her again there was no trace of her. I’ve spent quite a bit of time with her and she seemed fine at first but I’m beginning to have my doubts.”
“What do you mean?” Phillipa asked.
“She matches the description of a woman who was seen at three of the murder scenes and when I think back, she always seemed to be nowhere to be seen when each murder was committed.”
“I don’t think I can help you there,” Phillipa said.
“If she is the killer,” Smith said, “then she’s been blatantly rubbing our noses in it from the start.”
“I’m afraid we’re going to have to stop there,” Phillipa said, “Like I said, I’m going to recommend that you’re fit for work.”
“You know something don’t you?” Smith said, “I saw the way you reacted when I mentioned Karen Wood’s name.”
She went quiet for a while.
“Please,” Smith said, “this is important. More people might die.”
“I’m afraid I can’t help you,” she said, “Even us shrinks have something we call doctor patient confidentiality. We have to take it seriously.”
Smith thought back to something Karen Wood had said about psychiatrists. She had mentioned that she had a phobia of them.
“Ok,” he said, “you don’t have to tell me anything. I’ll use what you don’t say as an answer to my questions. You’ve never heard of Karen Wood have you?”
Phillipa remained silent. Smith could feel himself getting warm. He was staring to sweat.
“She’s not a doctor at all is she?”
Phillipa just sat there and stared at him.
“She doesn’t have an ex husband in Durham and she’s never studied entomology has she?”
“I think you’ve said enough,” Phillipa said, “Like I said, this is a delicate situation for me.”
“But you haven’t denied anything have you?” Smith said.
“Detective, you’re time is up.”
Smith decided to take a chance.
“Just one more thing,” he said, “she’s never been in for treatment has she?”
“Time’s up,” Phillipa said, “I have another consultation in ten minutes. I’ll make sure the appropriate paper work is sent to your superiors.”
She stood up and held out her hand. Smith also stood up and shook her hand.
“Good luck detective,” she said.
She wrote something on a piece of paper and handed it to him.
“Good bye detective,” she said.
Smith looked at what she had written on the piece of paper and smiled.
“Thank you,” he said and walked out of the room.
TWENTY SEVEN
Smith thought hard about what Doctor Phillipa Bryce had said to him as he drove to the station. Karen Wood is not what she appears to be, he thought, Whitton was right all along. He stopped at a petrol station and bought a sandwich. He had half an hour before the press conference. He looked at the piece of paper Phillipa had given him. She had written three words, ‘Saint Bart’s Hospital’. Smith knew it was a mental hospital on the outskirts of the city. Phillipa had hinted that Karen Wood had been a patient there. He finished his sandwich and drove to the station. The car park was almost full when he got there. This is going to be fun, he thought as he parked his car in one of the available spaces.
The reception area of the station was buzzing when Smith walked inside. He was immediately bombarded by three or four journalists.
“Do you think the ladybird killer will strike again?” a man with excessive nose hair asked him.
Smith ignored the question.
“Is it true that the murderer is a woman?” Another man asked.
Smith was annoyed. How could they know this? He thought. He pushed his way through the hoard of reporters and walked to the canteen. Smyth and Chalmers were talking by the window. Thompson, Whitton and Bridge were sitting on a table next to the coffee machine. Smith walked over to them.
“How did it go?” Whitton asked.
“Better than I expected,” Smith said, “much better actually and I’m officially sane.”
“That’s a matter of opinion,” Thompson said.
“Can I have a word in private?” Smith asked Whitton.
She stood up and followed him down the corridor to his office. Smith closed the door behind them.
“You were right,” he said.
“I’m always right,” Whitton said, “you should know that by now. What was I right about?”
“Doctor Karen Wood,” Smith said, “the shrink I just went to see hinted to me that Karen Wood is not who she appears to be.”
“What do you mean?”
“She’s a bit of a nut case,” Smith said, “and I think she’s spent some time in a mental institution.”
“The psychiatrist told you this?” Whitton said.
“Not exactly,” Smith said, “she couldn’t break doctor patient confidentiality but she hinted at it.”
“I knew it,” Whitton said, “I knew there was something not quite right about her. She just happened to turn up when this all started and then we couldn’t get rid of her. You should have listened to me.”
“I will next time,” Smith said.
“No you won’t. Do you think she’s the ladybird killer?”
“I don’t know,” Smith said, “but after the press conference we’re going to take a trip to Saint Bart’s hospital. It’s a mental hospital. I’m going to find out more about this phony doctor.”
There was a knock on the door.
“Come in,” Smith said.
It was Chalmers.
“Are you ready?” he said, “We’ll have to use the big conference room. I’ve never seen so many journos in one place before.”
“Bloody vultures,” Smith said.
“And remember,” Chalmers said, “not one word about anything else but the cash machine robberies. That’s what today is all about. Understood?”
“Loud and clear sir,” Smith said, “let’s get this over with.”
The noise inside the main conference room was overwhelming as Smith walked in. Superintendant Smyth was setting up a microphone at the back of the room. Smith walked over to him.
“Ready to rock and roll?” Smyth said, “This is just what the force needs. A bit of a morale booster don’t you think?”
“If you say so sir,” Smith said.
“I’m happy to tell you,” Smyth said, “I got word back from the lovely Doctor Bryce. She’s given you a clean bill of health. That’s good news isn’t it?”
Smith was about to say something but Smyth had turned the microphone to face the speakers and the room was filled with ear splitting feedback.”
“Terribly sorry,” he said.
He turned the microphone off.
“Right,” he said to Smith, “here’s the drill. I’ll lead off. It’ll be good to have a high ranking officer welcome our friends in the press. Then the floors all yours. Are you ready?”
“Ready sir,” Smith said.
Smyth turned the microphone back on and tapped it a few times to see if it was working. Smith winced. He hated it when people did that.
“Ladies and gentlemen of the press,” Smyth began, “could we please have a bit of hush.”
The room fell silent. Smyth smiled smugly.
“Thank you,” he said, “and welcome to you all. Before I begin, there will be refreshments in the canteen afterwards. I’m sure you’ll all appreciate it. I’ll get the ball rolling then. As you are all aware, a gang of cash machine thieves had been terrorising the high street
banks for quite some time. Our own detective sergeant Smith played a huge role in ensuring their capture. Ladies and gentlemen, I give you DS Smith.”
Smith walked over and stood in front of the microphone. He had never spoken in front of so many people before.
“Good afternoon,” he said, “I’m going to keep this as brief as possible.”
A woman in a white dress raised her hand.
“Any questions regarding the cash machine robberies will be answered at the end,” Smith said.
The woman put her hand down.
Smith spent the next twenty minutes outlining the details of the cash machine robberies. He was surprised at how much of what Thompson had told him he could remember. He had decided beforehand that he would credit Thompson with the arrest. He made it clear that it was Thompson’s attention to detail that had played the biggest role in apprehending the gang. Thompson beamed the whole way through. When Smith had finished, the conference room fell silent for a few seconds and then all hell broke loose. Questions were fired at him from every direction. Smith felt like he was in the middle of a verbal war zone. He stepped back from the microphone and looked at the crowd of journalists in front of him. Their faces were merged into one grotesque mass of frenzy. They were making such a noise that all he could make out was mouths opening and closing. He could not hear the words that were coming out.
“Silence,” a voice was heard over the microphone. It was Superintendant Smyth. For once, Smith was glad to hear his voice. The journalists quietened down.
“Thank you,” Smyth said, “as detective Smith pointed out at the start of the press conference, he will be glad to answer any of your questions but can we please have maintain some semblance of order here. One at a time please.”
Smith looked at him and smiled. He did not mean to smile but it materialised all on its own. He approached the microphone again.
“Thank you sir,” he said.
He looked at the hoard of journalists again.
“Does anybody have any questions regarding the cash machine robberies?” he said. “Please put up your hands and I will answer you one at a time.”
“The woman with the black hair raised her hand so quickly Smith thought she must have pulled a muscle.
The York Trilogy: The First 3 DS Jason Smith Detective novels Page 76
