Chris took a piece of paper from a drawer and wrote the address on it. He handed the paper to Whitton.
“She’s not in any danger is she?” he asked, “we may be divorced but I still care a great deal about her.”
“We just need to find her,” Whitton said, “that’s all. She may have some information regarding a case we’re working on.”
Chris looked at Bridge. Bridge had been staring at him the whole time.
“You’re wondering how I did it aren’t you?” Chris said.
“Excuse me?” Bridge said.
“Karen is a very beautiful woman,” Chris said, “You’re wondering how a man like me could ever end up with a woman like her.”
Bridge was amazed.
“The thought had crossed my mind,” he admitted.
“The fountain of youth soon runs dry my man,” Chris said, “the leaves wither and quickly die. Unless there’s something beneath the surface, you’re left with nothing in the end.”
Bridge did not know what to say.
“Karen was very astute, she saw beneath the outer layer. She saw much more than a chubby face, bald head and bad teeth. Enough of my maudlin ramblings, can I help you with anything else?”
“Was Karen ever violent?” Whitton asked.
“Never,” Chris said at once, “she had many inner demons, constantly at war with each other but that internal turmoil never surfaced.”
“What about when she didn’t take her medication?”
“The drugs made her restless,” Chris said, “when she didn’t take them she merely sank inside her own head. She could be lost in there for days some times. She was never violent.”
“How long were you and Karen married?” Bridge asked.
“Five years,” Chris replied, “but we knew each other for two years before then. She was a student at the university here. I remember the first time we met. She boys were besotted with her but she didn’t seem to notice. You’ll be surprised to hear that it was she who approached me. It was like a dream. She told me about her illness that first night. That was how she was.
“Why did you get divorced?” Whitton said, “I don’t mean to be too personal but we need to know everything about her.”
“It was my fault,” Chris sighed, “Karen loved me unconditionally but I couldn’t see a way for us to be together. I suppose if I were to admit it I’m a very fickle man.”
“So Karen studied literature with you?” Bridge said.
“Good God no,” Chris laughed, “She doesn’t have that kind of mind. We literary morons are dreamers, we’re impractical. You could even say we’re slightly lazy. No, Karen’s brain is much more analytical. She studied entomology. She was always fascinated by insects, especially beetles.”
THIRTY SEVEN
Smith woke up with a start. There was someone standing over his bed staring at him. It was Karen Wood. His mouth was incredibly dry and the needle in his arm was starting to sting.
“How are you doing Jason?” she said. Her voice seemed different.
“I’ve been better,” Smith tried to stay calm. He did not know what to do. He felt helpless in the hospital bed with a tube sticking out of his arm.
“How did you know I was here?” he asked her.
“I called the station,” she said, “I didn’t say who I was but I said you’d left me a message saying you needed to speak with me. That’s the truth isn’t it? A very nice lady told me you’d been admitted to hospital and here I am.”
Smith realised he was sweating quite badly. He was not sure whether he should feel scared or not.
“Could you get me something to drink?” he said, “This drip is all very well but I need something to wet my throat.”
“What happened?” she said.
“Dodgy pizza,” Smith replied, “according to them, I’m severely dehydrated.”
“I’ll get you a coke,” she said, “I think I saw a machine in the hospital lobby.”
“Thanks,” Smith said, “it’s nice to see you anyway.”
“Liar,” she said and left the room.
Smith took out his phone and dialled Whitton’s number. His hands were shaking so badly that he pressed the wrong buttons on the phone. When he finally did get through the line was engaged.
“Shit,” he said.
He tried again. This time Whitton answered straight away.
“You should be resting sir,” she said, “We can cope without you, you know.”
“Whitton,” Smith said, “listen to me. Where are you?”
“We’re at Karen Wood’s house,” Whitton said, “we found out where she lives from her ex husband. Quite a charmer that one.”
“Whitton,” Smith said, “listen to me. I need as many people at the hospital right away.”
“Karen Wood isn’t at home,” Whitton said, “we’ve just finished talking with one of her house mates.”
“I know she’s not there Whitton,” Smith said, “she’s here at the hospital. I woke up and she was standing next to the bed. She was just staring at me. I asked her to get me something to drink. Get everybody here now.”
He rang off just in time. Karen Wood walked in with the coke. She opened it and handed it to Smith. He drank half of the can in one go.
She sat down on the bed.
“I can’t stay long,” she said, “I have an important meeting this afternoon. It could change my life.”
“Thanks for coming,” Smith said.
He knew he should try to stall her but he could not think of anything to say. He was scared; he could be stuck in the room with a psychopath.
“Something’s bothering you isn’t it?” she said. “You seem very anxious.”
“I’m stuck in a hospital bed with a tube sticking out my arm,” Smith said, “I hate hospitals. They’re full of sick people.”
Karen Wood did not say anything. Smith found it hard to think. A few days ago he had had a drink with this woman but now he was terrified of what she might do. He wondered how long would it be until one of his colleagues got here.
“I have to go,” Karen Wood said and stood up, “I hope you get better soon. Give me a call sometime.”
She kissed him on the top of his head.
“You’re burning up,” she said, “Have they given you something for that?”
“I’ll be fine,” Smith said, “stay a while longer please. There’s something I need to know.”
She looked at him and smiled. Her blue eyes seemed darker.
“What is it?” she said.
“Something that’s been puzzling me,” Smith said, “When Grant Webber brought you in to help us with the ladybirds; he said he found you off the internet. You were supposed to be some kind of insect expert.”
“I wouldn’t say expert,” she laughed, “but I did study entomology for a few years. Personal circumstances meant I couldn’t take it any further.”
Smith thought hard about what he was going to say next. He knew he had to be very careful.
“We tried to find the web page again,” Smith said, “but it had vanished.”
Karen Wood smiled. She sat back down on the bed.
“That post was old,” she said, “I removed it. I used to write a blog when I was at University. What’s all this about anyway?”
Whitton, Bridge and two officers in uniform ran in the room. Karen Wood stood up and looked at Smith. The expression on her face was one of utter confusion.
“What’s going on?” she said, “why are all these people in here?”
Smith nodded to Whitton.
“Karen Wood,” Whitton said, “could you please come with us?”
“What for?” Karen Wood said.
“Please Karen,” Smith said, “just go with them. They need to ask you a few questions.”
“I haven’t done anything,” she screamed, “why are you doing this? I helped you.”
“You can come with us peacefully,” Whitton said, “or I can arrest you. It’s your choice.”
&n
bsp; Smith winced. He did not want this to happen.
“No,” Karen screamed. She had a look of desperation in her eyes.
“Please come with us,” Whitton said.
“I’m not going back to that place,” Karen said, “you don’t know what they do to people in there.”
She tried to push past on of the uniformed officers. He grabbed her left arm. She swung her right arm and landed a punch in his stomach. He doubled up with pain and she pushed him to the floor. Bridge and the other officer tried to grab her arms but she was too quick. She pushed past them and ran out of the room. Whitton ran after her. Smith watched on in disbelief. He yanked the needle out of his arm and got off the bed. Blood was dripping from where the needle was inserted. He ran out of the room. He found them in the hospital reception area. Whitton and Karen Wood were both on the floor. Two hospital orderlies were holding Karen Wood down. She was screaming and struggling to get loose. Smith watched as a doctor took out a syringe and injected something into Karen Wood’s arm. He was exhausted as he walked up to them. Whitton was bleeding quite badly from a cut above her lip.
“Don’t send me back there,” Karen Wood said, “don’t send me back there. Don’t send me back there.”
She stopped talking and looked up at Smith. There was an expression in her eyes that spoke of only one thing, pure disbelief. Her eyelids started to droop and her body seemed to relax. She still had her eyes on Smith. She opened her mouth to say something. Smith leaned over her so he could hear her.
“Why?” she said to him, “Why?”
THIRTY EIGHT
“How the hell did you get in here?” George Whitlow said to his wife, “how did you even know about this place?”
“I’ve known for quite some time,” she said, “I had a key cut almost a year ago. I know a lot more than you think George Whitlow. You never were any good at keeping secrets.”
George sat next to her on the bed. He put his head in his hands.
“I’m scared Naomi,” he said, “I don’t think I’ve ever been so scared.”
“What are you so scared of?” Naomi asked, “You just upped and left yesterday and you didn’t come home last night. What’s going on? You’ve never been scared of anything in your whole life.”
“The gang are all dead Naomi,” George said, “Charlie, Derek and Barry. All dead. She killed the boys too and now she’s after me.”
“What are you talking about? You’re scaring me now.”
“I can’t tell you,” George said, “I can’t tell anybody. We were young. We didn’t know what we were doing. She’s going to kill me now.”
“You’re talking gibberish now. Who’s going to kill you?”
“Don’t you see,” George stood up and walked over to the window. He moved the curtain to one side and looked out onto the street below.”
“Me, Barry, Charlie and Derek,” he said, “We did a terrible thing Naomi and now she’s making us pay. She killed Drake too. It’s all my fault. I need to get away. Somewhere she won’t find me.”
“I still don’t know what you’re talking about,” Naomi said, “if you’re scared then you should go to the police. They can help you.”
“It’s too late. Nobody can help me. I can never tell the police what happened. I’ll be in serious trouble. No, what I need to do is get as far away from this god awful city as possible. Maybe go abroad for a few years. Somewhere she’ll never think to look.”
“You can’t just leave,” Naomi looked like she was going to cry.
“Why not? You could come with me. We could start again somewhere nice. We could go to Spain or France. Somewhere warm.”
“You’re being silly now,” Naomi said, “let’s have a drink and talk about this. I’m sure we can figure something out.”
“You’re not listening Naomi. My life is in danger. A drink is not going to fix this.”
George looked at his wife sitting on the bed in his secret flat. She looked so frail and helpless.
“I’m sorry Naomi,” he said, “This is all my fault. Drake would still be alive if it wasn’t for me.”
He opened the door to the flat and walked down the stairs.
THIRTY NINE
Smith sat down on the hospital bed. His head was spinning. A nurse was busy reattaching the drip to his arm.
“Don’t do that again,” the nurse said as he inserted the needle and attached a new bag of saline solution to the frame.
Karen Wood had been sedated and was now under observation in the psychiatric wing of the hospital. She was under twenty four hour guard. Her fingerprints had been taken and everybody was anxiously waiting to see if they matched the prints at the murder scenes. Smith was beginning to have serious doubts as to whether she was the ladybird killer. The expression on her face when Whitton and the other officers had burst in had been one of absolute disbelief. Smith decided that either she was a psychopath without a conscience or she genuinely did not realise why she was being arrested. Smith had dealt with cold blooded killers in the past and he was starting to believe that Karen Wood was just a lost soul with a mental problem who just happened to be in the wrong place at the wrong time. There are too many coincidences here, he thought, I hate coincidences. He lay down on the bed and closed his eyes. The nurse had finished with the drip.
“No more heroics ok?” he said and walked out of the room.
Smith opened his eyes and sighed. He was in two minds about how to feel about the arrest. One the one hand, if it transpired that Karen Wood was responsible for all of these murders, they could put it all behind them but it would always leave a bad taste in his mouth. He had got close to her and if she was some kind of psychotic killer, she had succeeded in making a complete fool out of him. He had always relied on his instincts in the past and they had rarely let him down. There was no time in the past week when he had actually felt threatened by Karen Wood. She was slightly strange but he had always felt safe around her.
“I’m losing it,” he said out loud, “maybe I shouldn’t have come back to work after all.”
He took out his phone and dialled Webber’s number.
“Smith,” Webber said before Smith had a chance to speak, “what do you want?”
“Have you compared the prints?” Smith asked.
“Give me a chance,” Webber said, “I’ve just started to have a look at them.”
“I’ll hold,” Smith said, “I need to know. It’s driving me crazy.”
“I can’t work with you breathing down my neck,” Webber said, “You’ll be the first to know as soon as we find anything. Shouldn’t you be resting anyway?”
“I am resting,” Smith said.
“Like I said, “Webber said, “I’ll call you as soon as we know anything.”
“Thanks Webber,” Smith said.
“Did you hear about Derek Dodds?” Webber said.
“What about him?”
“They found the missing fingers. You’ll never guess where they were?”
“I’m sure you’re going to tell me,” Smith said.
“They’d been stuffed up his arse,” Webber said, “to use the technical term.”
“You’re kidding me?” Smith said.
“Having a couple of fingers rammed up your backside is no joking matter,” Webber said.
“Thanks for the info Webber,” Smith said, “you really know how to cheer someone up.”
He rang off.
Smith still had the phone to his ear when it started to ring. He got such a fright that he dropped it on the floor next to the bed. He reached down to grab it and almost yanked the drip out of his arm in the process. He picked up the phone and answered it.
“Smith,” he said.
“Detective,” a woman’s voice said, “I’m not sure if you remember me but we spoke earlier in the week. My name is Naomi Whitlow. You gave me your number.”
Smith’s head felt fuzzy and he had to think hard.
“Mrs Whitlow,” he said eventually, “you’re Drake’s mothe
r.”
“That’s right, “she said, “I need to talk to you urgently. It’s about my husband.”
“Go ahead Mrs Whitlow,” Smith said.
“Can we meet somewhere?” she asked, “I don’t want to talk about this over the phone.”
“I’m a bit tied up at the moment,” Smith said, “I’m actually in a hospital bed with a tube sticking out my arm. What’s this all about?”
“My husband thinks his life is in danger,” she said, “it has something to do with these ladybird murders.”
Smith sat up in the bed.
“Where is your husband now?” he asked.
“He’s gone,” she said, “he said he was scared she was after him and he left.”
“Where are you?” Smith said.
“George rented a flat round the corner from the Minster. It’s above an antique shop. I don’t know what to do.”
“Wait there,” Smith said, “I’ll be there in twenty minutes.”
He rang off and took a deep breath. He looked at the tube in his arm and in one quick motion he pulled it out. He got off the bed and walked out of the room. He made his way to the hospital exit without anybody seeing him and walked casually out the doors.
It was still incredibly hot as Smith walked away from the hospital. He remembered he had left his car outside the hotel where they had found Derek Dodds. He found a taxi and got in the back seat.
“Minster,” he said.
The driver drove off.
About half a mile down the road, Smith developed an unbelievable thirst.
“Do you have anything to drink?” he asked the driver.
“This is a cab,” the driver said gruffly, “it’s not a bloody wine bar.”
“Fair enough,” Smith said, “would you mind stopping at the next shop you pass then. I need something to drink.”
There was a supermarket further down the road. The taxi driver parked outside it. He left the engine running.
“Meter’s running pal,” he said as Smith got out and ran inside the shop.
Smith picked up three cans of coke and a chocolate bar in the supermarket but as he reached the till he realised he did not have any money to pay for it.
The York Trilogy: The First 3 DS Jason Smith Detective novels Page 81
