“Morning sir,” he said, “what’s happened?”
“Smith,” Chalmers said, “you look like hell. Have you started your drinking shit again?”
“No sir,” Smith said, “I had a few beers last night that’s all. I ate a couple of chicken sandwiches this morning and threw them up almost straight away. I’m not feeling too well, that’s all. What have we got?”
“Derek Dodds,” Chalmers said, “remember that young lad who got his throat slashed in the Gents of the pub?”
“Barney Dodds?” Smith said.
“Derek is the boy’s father. The cleaner found him in his room this morning. Apparently Dodds asked for an early morning wake up call. Poor bastard was supposed to bury his son this afternoon.”
Smith looked at the old man standing next to Chalmers.
“Kenneth Hall,” the man said, “I’m the manager of the Regal. I came as soon as I heard. I’m supposed to be having a few well earned days off.”
“Not any more,” Smith said.
“This is terrible,” Hall said, “we’ve never had a murder in the hotel and I’ve been here for thirty years.”
“Is he still up there?” Smith pointed to the hotel.
“Still exactly where the cleaner found him,” Chalmers said, “Webber should be here any minute.”
He walked inside the hotel. Smith walked in after him. The reception area was empty apart from two officers in uniform standing by the stairs. Smith nodded to them as he followed Chalmers up the stairs. Another officer in uniform was standing by the door to one of the rooms.
“I’ve got to warn you,” Chalmers said, “it’s not pretty in there.”
“It never is,” Smith said.
“This one’s worse than the others.”
Smith walked inside the room. Derek Dodds was lying on his stomach. He arms were by his side and Smith noticed at once that at least two of his fingers seemed to be missing. There was an incredible amount of blood on the carpet. Smith looked more closely at Dodds’ head and felt himself growing weak. The nausea he had experienced earlier was returning. Derek Dodds’ head had been sliced off. Smith did not have time to make it to the bathroom. He vomited on the floor beside the bed. Chalmers looked on in amazement.
“I told you sir,” Smith said, “I’m definitely coming down with something.”
He walked to the bathroom and forgot everything he had learned about crime scene protocol. He turned on the bathroom tap and rinsed his mouth out with fresh water.
“Webber is going to have a hernia,” Chalmers said when Smith came back into the room.
Smith looked again at Derek Dodds’ body. Ladybirds had been placed on the back of his head.
“What do you make of the fingers?” He said, “Some of his fingers are missing.”
“We’ll know more when those bastards in forensics decide to put in an appearance but if I were to hazard a guess, I’d say they’re defence wounds.”
“Defence wounds?” Smith said.
“There’s our murder weapon there,” Chalmers pointed to a strip of wire on the carpet next to the body.
Smith bent down to look at the wire.
“Cheese wire,” Chalmers said, “cuts through anything. I think this poor bastard put up his hands to try to protect himself and got a few fingers cut off in the process.”
“Where are the fingers?” Smith asked.
“What?” Chalmers said.
“The fingers. If they were sliced off they would be lying around here somewhere. Has anybody found the fingers?”
Grant Webber and another man in a forensics coat entered the room. Smith did not recognise him.
“Morning Webber,” Smith said, “what took you so long?”
“Bloody hell,” the other man said, “what do we have here?”
“Aren’t you going to introduce us?” Smith said.
“This is Craig O’Brien,” Webber said, “He’s been transferred here from London. He’s an excellent technician.”
“Cheese wire,” O’Brien said, “no chance of lifting any prints from that. His head has been sliced clean off.”
He moved Derek Dodds’ head to one side with a pencil.
“It’s been put back,” he said to Webber.
“Looks like it,” Webber agreed.
“What’s been put back?” Smith said.
“The head,” O’Brien said, “the head is a funny thing. When it’s sliced off, it tends to drop to the floor and bounce a couple of times. This head had been placed back onto the neck and from the number of missing digits on the hands, I’d say this poor blighter was very much alive when he was beheaded. Do you know that for a split second he will have been very much aware of what was happening to him? He may have even watched his own decapitated body fall to the ground.
Smith and Chalmers stared at him.
“He’s quite a character isn’t he?” Webber said.
“Where are the missing fingers?” Smith asked.
“They’ll be around here somewhere,” O’ Brien said.
“Could you leave us in peace now?” Webber said, “While we do what they pay us to do.”
Chalmers nodded to Smith and they walked towards the door.
“Bingo,” O’Brien said.
Smith turned round and looked at him.
“Did you find the fingers?” he asked.
“Not yet,” O’Brien said, “but whoever lopped this bloke’s head off didn’t really have the stomach for it. There’s a pile of vomit on the floor we can definitely have a look at.”
“I’m afraid that’s mine,” Smith said, “I couldn’t make it to the bathroom in time.”
Webber glared at him.
“Never mind,” O’Brien said, “it’s not every day you see a body without a head attached to it. It’s probably a good thing you didn’t make it to the bathroom anyway, whoever did this will have been covered in blood. They probably washed themselves afterwards. We may get some good prints from the taps in there.”
“You’ll probably find my prints in there too,” Smith said, “I had to wash my mouth out afterwards.”
“Get out,” Webber said, “just get out before you do any more damage.”
The reception area had filled up by the time Smith and Chalmers walked back down. Whitton and Bridge were talking to a man behind the reception desk. He looked very tired. Whitton walked over to Smith.
“You look awful sir,” she said.
Smith’s face was deathly pale.
“I don’t feel too well Whitton,” he said, “I’ve been sick twice this morning. I think I may have a stomach bug. Who’s the guy behind the reception desk? He looks worse than me.”
“He was working when Dodds checked in last night sir,” Whitton said.
Smith walked up to him.
“Morning,” he said, “I’m DS Smith. I believe you were working here last night when Derek Dodd’s checked in?”
“I was,” the man said, “I’m supposed to be off today. I had a bit of a skin full last night after work. It’s not often I get a Saturday off.”
“What time did Mr Dodds arrive?” Smith asked.
“Just after ten,” the receptionist said, “I’m supposed to finish at ten but he arrived just as I was about to end my shift.”
“Was he alone?” Smith said.
“Yes,” the receptionist said, “I checked him in as quickly as possible. He seemed quite harmless. He went straight up to his room.”
“And you left straight afterwards?”
“Amanda was late,” the receptionist said, “she’s the night receptionist. She’s always late. I had to wait until she turned up. I wasn’t happy about it. I was supposed to be meeting this girl at ten thirty.”
“What time did she turn up?” Smith said.
“About twenty past. I was quite annoyed because I was in the middle of checking in some woman when she arrived. I had to finish checking her in. It’s the policy.”
“You checked in a woman?” Smith said.
/> “I didn’t mind staying on for her though,” the receptionist smiled, “she was a real babe.”
Smith’s heart started to beat faster.
“Is she still here?” he asked.
“I don’t know. Like I said, I was called in here this morning. I feel like shit to be honest. I must have had about two hours sleep.”
“Please check to see if she’s still here,” Smith said.
The receptionist tapped a few keys on the keyboard and the hotel guest list appeared on the computer screen.
“Rebecca Waters,” he said, “room number four. According to this, she hasn’t checked out yet.”
Smith thought hard about what he was going to do. He took out his phone and dialled Karen Wood’s number but it went straight to voice mail again. He did not leave a message.
“Whitton,” he said, “come with me. Our killer may still be in the hotel.”
He walked up to the two uniformed officers.
“Wait at the bottom of the stairs,” he said, “don’t let anybody go up or down.”
“Can I go now?” the receptionist asked.
“Is there another way out of the hotel?” Smith said.
“There’s a fire escape at the back.”
“Sir,” Smith said to Chalmers, “would you mind manning the fire door? Bridge can go with you. Our friendly receptionist can show you where it is.”
Smith and Whitton walked slowly up the stairs. Room four was just down the corridor from Derek Dodds’ room. They stopped outside the door and listened. There was a ‘do not disturb’ sign on the door handle. Smith was about to knock on the door when his phone started to ring. He took out the phone and looked at the screen. It was Karen Wood. He started to feel sick again but he managed to push the feeling aside.
“Smith,” he answered the phone.
“Hi,” Karen Wood said, “you said you needed to talk.”
“Now isn’t a good time,” Smith said, “where are you?”
The phone line went dead.
“Damn it,” he said.
He put the phone back in his pocket, knocked on the door and waited. There was no sound from inside. He knocked again.
“Police,” he said, “is there anybody in there? We need to talk to you.”
There was still no sound from inside.
“Whitton,” Smith whispered, “go down to reception and get a key for this room. They must have a spare.”
Whitton walked down the stairs. While he waited, Smith had a sudden flashback from earlier that year when he had found his girlfriend Lucy on the floor of his bathroom with her throat cut open. He could see her face clearly. One blue eye and one green one. Whitton walked back up the stairs with the spare key and Smith jumped.
“Are you ok sir?” she asked, “You look terrible.”
“I’m fine,” Smith said, “let’s get this door open shall we?”
THIRTY TWO
She was dreaming about something different this time when she was woken by a knock on the door. She was instantly awake. She was very annoyed. It was the first time in weeks that she had been able to sleep and dream about something else. There was a knock on the door again. All hope of getting back to sleep was lost. She waited and listened. She could hear nothing outside the door. Maybe they’ve given up, she thought but there was a knock on the door once again.
“What do you want?” she said.
She looked around her room. The ladybird cages were all empty. She had used too many on Derek Dodds and in room number four.
“I just wanted to know if you needed anything from the shops,” a man’s voice said.
“No I don’t,” she said.
“Ok,” he said, “no problem.”
“Thanks anyway,” she added. She could at least try to sound grateful.
“Ok,” the man said, “sorry if I woke you up.”
She glanced at the clock on the table next to the bed. It was half past eight. She got out of bed and opened the curtains. It was going to be an exceptionally hot day. As she had no ladybird larvae to worry about, she opened the window for the first time in weeks. She did not need any more ladybirds anyway. There was only one of them left now and then it would be all over. She took out a cardboard box and placed the glass cages inside. She felt a wave of sadness overcome her as she tidied away everything that had consumed her life in recent weeks. She placed the empty breeding kit boxes inside the glass cages. The whole clean up took her less than ten minutes. She listened carefully to make sure that there was nobody left in the house but she knew she was alone. She took the cardboard box down the stairs, opened the front door and emptied it into the black bin that stood outside the house. She knew that nobody would look inside the bin. She went back inside and walked back up the stairs to her room. She lay on the bed and started to cry. The tears ran down her face and dripped off her chin. The last one would happen soon and then she would be free. The seed would be dead.
THIRTY THREE
Smith turned the key in the door and waited. There was no sound from inside the room. He turned the handle slowly and opened the door. He knew at once there was nobody in the room when he saw the ladybirds.
“She was here,” he said to Whitton, “she must have left before we got here. Why does she keep doing that? Look at this.”
On the bed, ladybirds had been used to spell out the words, ‘The seed will soon be dead.’
“What the hell does that mean?” Smith said.
“I have no idea,” Whitton said, “this just gets weirder and weirder.”
Smith stood and stared at the bed. The duvet cover was white and the red ladybirds stood out beautifully. He was feeling sick again.
“Are you alright sir?” Whitton said.
Smith just stood staring at the ladybirds. He was starting to feel dizzy. The ladybirds were now moving.
“Sir,” Whitton said.
Smith tottered to one side but managed to regain his balance.
“I think you should see a doctor sir,” Whitton said, “all the colour has gone from your face.
Smith smiled at her and looked at the ladybirds again. They were now flying around the room. His eyelids started to droop and he fell to the floor.
When he woke up, Smith did not know where he was. A woman was leaning over him. She was wearing a paramedic’s uniform. Another paramedic was trying to put a drip in his arm. Smith tried to get up but he felt exhausted.
“Just lie there sir,” Whitton said, “You need to get some fluids into you.”
“What happened?” Smith asked.
“You fainted tough guy,” the female paramedic said, “you’re extremely dehydrated. I believe you were sick a couple of times this morning too.”
“It’s just a bug,” Smith said, “I had serious diahorrea this morning too. I’ll be fine in a minute.”
From the name tag on her uniform, Smith saw that her name was Victoria. He winced as the other paramedic managed to find a vein and inserted the needle into his arm.
“Its more than just a bug,” Victoria said, “I’d say you have food poisoning. Have you eaten anything dodgy in the last couple of days?”
“Not really,” Smith said, “I had a couple of chicken sandwiches this morning and last night I had a frozen pizza.”
“It’s too early for the sandwiches to affect you like this,” Victoria said, “my money’s on the pizza. Did you check the sell by date?”
“The what?” Smith smiled.
Victoria shook her head. A third paramedic arrived with a stretcher.
“That’s not really necessary,” Smith said, “just juice me up and you can go and help somebody who really needs it.”
“Tough guy,” Victoria said, “you were so dehydrated that blood wasn’t able to reach your brain. That’s why you fainted. We need to keep an eye on you for a while.”
“Do I have a choice?” Smith said.
“No,” Victoria said.
Smith sighed and looked at Whitton.
“How about
a bit of help here,” he said.
“Just do as your told for once in your life,” Whitton said, “you’re a pain in the arse but we’d probably all miss you if you died.”
Victoria smiled.
“Listen to your friend,” she said.
Smith felt himself being lifted onto the stretcher. He was carried out of the room. They passed Grant Webber in the corridor.
“What happened?” Webber seemed genuinely concerned.
“I felt like a day off,” Smith said, “see what you can get out of room four. She was there. She might have left something behind.”
The paramedics carried him down the corridor.
“Webber,” Smith shouted back at him.
“What now Smith?” Webber said.
“Thanks for the concern. It’s quite touching.”
Smith was carried down the stairs and into the reception area. Chalmers was standing with Bridge next to the desk. Bridge’s eyes nearly popped out of his head when he saw Smith.
“What happened sir?” he asked.
“These people reckon I don’t drink enough Bridge,” Smith said, “please tell them it’s not true.”
“He’s severely dehydrated,” Victoria said to Bridge, “I’m afraid you’re going to have to do without him for a day or two.”
Bridge watched as Smith was carried out of the hotel and into the ambulance parked outside.
“What now?” Bridge asked Whitton.
“Webber’s still upstairs,” Whitton said, “you know what he’s like. He could be up there for hours. When was the last time you went to Durham?”
“Durham?” Bridge said.
“Something the director of the mental hospital where Karen Wood stayed for a while,” Whitton said, “her husband is a professor of Literature at Durham University. Let’s see if we can figure out where the mysterious Karen Wood is shall we?”
DS Thompson walked through the doors of the hotel. His hair was a mess and he looked like he had not had a shave for a while.
“Morning sir,” Whitton said, “did you sleep in the car again?”
“That’s not funny Whitton,” Thompson said, “We’ve had no water for three days now. The water main burst and they’re only talking about fixing it on Monday. What’s happened? An ambulance drove away as I was pulling up.”
The York Trilogy: The First 3 DS Jason Smith Detective novels Page 79
