Occum's Razor

by Giles, Stewart

  “When did you speak to Whitton?” Proud said.

  “While you were sleeping,” Smith realised he might as well tell her everything, “I told her to make Friedman think I was dead.”

  “Did you tell her where you were?” Proud had a grave expression on her face.

  “No,” Smith lied, “I just told her it was better to make Friedman think I was no longer around.”

  “Good,” Proud said, “because if Friedman thinks that Whitton knows something he won’t stop until she tells him. He can be quite creative. I know; I’ve seen him in action.”

  “What are we going to do today?” Smith changed the subject.

  “I’m going for a swim,” Proud said, “there’s a little bay just down from the cliff. There’s a perfect little beach that nobody knows about.”

  “The water must be freezing,” Smith said.

  “It’s good for the soul,” Proud smiled, “let’s go.”

  As they walked towards the cliff top Smith felt something he had not felt in days. He felt at peace. His whole life had been turned upside down in the past week but as he gazed down at the North Sea from the top of the cliff, he felt safe.

  “Can I borrow your phone?” Proud said.

  “Ok,” Smith looked at her suspiciously.

  He handed her the phone. She opened the back, took out the sim card and handed it to him.

  “What are you doing?” Smith said.

  “Playing safe,” Proud said.

  She clipped the cover back on the phone and threw it as far as she could into the sea below. Smith heard a quiet splash as it hit the water and disappeared. He was gobsmacked. He just stared at the spot in the sea where the phone had gone down.

  “What the hell did you do that for?” he said.

  “You put us both in danger by speaking to Whitton,” Proud said, “I had to make sure it didn’t happen again. Come on. Let’s go.”

  Smith stood with his mouth wide open. He watched as Sarah Proud made her way down the rocky path to the cove below. He walked down after her.

  Sarah Proud was already in the sea when Smith reached the bottom of the path. Her clothes lay in a pile on the top of a rock about twenty metres from the surf.

  “Come in,” Proud shouted, “the water’s lovely.”

  Smith did not know what to do. He had grown up by the beach in Fremantle but he had only been in the sea once in over ten years and that had not been by choice. A deranged Chinese man had taken Smith and Whitton hostage on a boat. Smith had dived over the side to rescue Whitton. He shivered when he remembered how cold the water had been that day.

  “I didn’t bring anything to wear,” he said as an excuse, “I didn’t know we’d end up swimming in the sea.”

  “Neither did I,” Proud shouted.

  Smith looked at the pile of clothes lying on the rock. He realised that Sarah Proud was swimming naked.

  “There’s nobody around,” Proud said, “don’t be such a big girl.”

  Smith slowly undressed. He took off everything except his boxer shorts. He looked at his body and was disgusted by how pale he had become. His body had not seen the sun in years. He walked up to the edge of the water. Small waves were breaking on the sand. He put one of his feet in the water and flinched. The sea was freezing.

  “Just run in,” Proud said, “you’ll never get in if you walk in slowly.”

  Smith took a deep breath and through the surf towards the deeper water where Sarah Proud was floating on her back. When the water was deep enough he launched himself head first into a wave. The cold hit him like a sledgehammer. The muscles in his face tensed up and his brain felt like it was turning to ice. He broke the surface and swam over to Sarah Proud.

  “See,” she said, “it’s not that bad when you’re in is it?”

  “No,” Smith lied, “I must be crazy.”

  Sarah Proud swam over and put her arms around him. Her naked body felt warm in the icy water. Smith looked into her eyes; she looked like she was about to cry.

  “I’m sorry,” she said.

  “Sorry for what?” Smith said.

  “I’m sorry you had to get involved in all of this. None of this was supposed to happen.”

  Smith kissed her on the lips.

  “Was that not supposed to happen either?” he said.

  She kissed him back. They remained in the sea, treading water, holding onto each other. A fluke wave crashed over their heads but neither of them seemed to notice.

  FIFTY SEVEN

  Whitton got out of the shower and dried herself off. She got dressed and went downstairs. Theakston was sitting in the kitchen. He was staring at the fridge. Whitton remembered that Smith had not left any dog food when he had dropped Theakston off. There were two chicken legs in the fridge left over from the night before. Whitton had been saving them for later.

  “Do you like chicken?” Whitton said to Theakston and realised it was a stupid question to ask a Bull Terrier.

  She took the chicken out of the fridge and put it in front of Theakston. In less than a minute it was gone. Whitton sighed. Theakston assumed his position by the fridge. He alternated his gaze between Whitton and the fridge door.

  “That’s just rude,” Whitton said, “Smith obviously hasn’t taught you any manners. I suppose we should go and get you some proper dog food. Do you feel like a walk?”

  Theakston was out of the kitchen and standing by the front door in a flash. Whitton was amazed at how fast he could move when he wanted to.

  The supermarket was a ten minute walk from Whitton’s house. She tied Theakston to a lamppost and went inside. She bought a bag of dog food and two dog bowls. Smith had forgotten to give her anything at all. As she was paying she spotted a newspaper headline on one of the Sunday papers. On the front page was a photograph of Smith’s house. It had obviously been taken that morning. The photograph showed the full extent of the fire damage. Whitton could not believe how quickly the press had latched onto the story. Above the photograph the headline read ‘Police detective’s house petrol bombed’.

  Whitton felt sick. What if Smith had been inside when it happened? She thought. She wondered how he had been able to get out in time.

  “Twelve fifty five,” the cashier broke Whitton’s thoughts.

  “Sorry?” Whitton said.

  “That’ll be twelve fifty five please,” the cashier said.

  Whitton took out her purse and paid.

  When Whitton stood outside her house and put the dog food and bowls on the step so she could get her keys out she did not notice the Land Rover parked further down the street. She opened the door and went inside. There was a strange smell inside the house. It smelled like cheap aftershave. Theakston started to growl. Something was clearly bothering him. Whitton had an uneasy feeling. She felt like something bad was about to happen. She put the dog food in the kitchen and went to the living room. Brad Friedman was sitting on her favourite chair. Two men were standing beside him. From the look of them Whitton knew straight away that they were no strangers to violence. She had seen their type many times before.

  Theakston started to bark at Friedman. He was baring his teeth.

  “Get that thing out of here,” Friedman said.

  “Theakston,” Whitton said softly, “Come with me boy.”

  She led him to the kitchen and closed the door behind. Theakston carried on barking.

  “What do you want Friedman?” Whitton said.

  “That’s no way to treat a guest,” Friedman said, “I thought we were friends.”

  “I’m very particular who I make friends with,” Whitton said, “I’ll ask you again. What do you want?”

  “Just a friendly chat,” Friedman smiled.

  Whitton wanted to knock the smug grin off his face.

  “I need to find Jason Smith,” Friedman continued, “It is important I speak with him and you’re going to tell me where he is.”

  “He’s dead,” Whitton realised she did not sound very convincing, “he died in t
he fire you caused last night or have you forgotten about that?”

  “Erica,” Friedman stood up. “Nice try but we both know that Smith wasn’t in the house last night when the awful fire was started don’t we? His car was outside but Jason Smith was not inside. I have a nasty feeling he was warned.”

  “Warned by who?” Whitton said, “I don’t know what you’re talking about.”

  “Oh but you do,” Friedman said, “I’m not stupid. I know you spoke to him this morning. I heard you, now where is he?”

  “I don’t know,” Whitton said, “he didn’t tell me.”

  Friedman stared at her for a few seconds.

  “I don’t believe you,” he said.

  “I don’t care,” Whitton said, “I don’t know where he is, now get out of my house.”

  Friedman took a step closer to Whitton. She flinched.

  “Erica,” he said, “I know for a fact that you know where our friend Smith is. It would be better all round if you told me now before I have to show you the darker side of myself.”

  Theakston was still barking in the kitchen.

  “Very well,” Friedman took out a gun and handed it to one of the other men.

  “She won’t talk,” Friedman said to the man.

  “Shooting me is not going to get you what you want is it?” Whitton said.

  Friedman smiled. Theakston’s barking was getting louder.

  “No,” Friedman said.

  He smiled at her.

  “Shoot the dog,” he said to the man holding the gun.

  “No,” Whitton screamed.

  Friedman said something to the man in a language Whitton could not understand. The man with the gun pushed past her and walked towards the kitchen. Whitton heard him open the door and then she heard a loud bang. She felt like she was going to be sick. Not Theakston, she thought, Smith loves that dog. The man walked back to the living room and handed the gun back to Friedman.

  Theakston started to bark again. Whitton felt a wave of relief run through her whole body.

  “Ok,” Friedman said, “consider that a warning. Now you know what I’m capable of. Are you ready to tell me what I want to know or must I let Andre here really shoot the dog?”

  “He didn’t tell me where he is,” Whitton said.

  Friedman shook his head. He nodded to the man known as Andre.

  “I’m telling the truth,” Whitton said, “he didn’t say exactly. He just said he was on some island off the Northumberland mainland. I don’t know anything else. Please don’t hurt the dog. He hasn’t done anything to you.”

  Friedman smiled. He nodded to the two men.

  “That wasn’t too hard was it?” He said to Whitton, “After this is over I don’t see any reason why we have to bump into each other again.”

  He walked out of the room. The two men followed him. Whitton winced as the front door was slammed behind them.

  Whitton ran to the kitchen and opened the door. Theakston jumped up at her legs. Whitton collapsed to the floor and hugged the dog. She did not want to let go. She looked up and saw the bullet hole in the wall above the fridge. She held on to Theakston and started to cry. Theakston licked the tears that streamed down her face.

  FIFTY EIGHT

  Smith and Proud lay on the sand drying off in the sun. Smith looked at Proud lying naked on the beach and he could not help thinking how she was not in the slightest bit self conscious of her body. Most people he knew would want to cover themselves up; they would never remove their clothes in a public place. Smith thought how innocent she looked.

  “We’re all alone,” he said, “I think it’s about time you explained a few things to me.”

  “Not now,” she sat up and brushed the sand off her back, “let’s not spoil a perfect day.”

  “When then?”

  “This evening,” Proud said, “I’ll make us something nice to eat, we’ll get drunk and then I’ll explain everything to you.”

  “You promise?”

  “I promise,” Proud put her hand on the back of Smith’s neck, “you should really get more sun. You’re way too pale for an Australian.”

  Smith closed his eyes. The hand on the back of his neck felt warm. He smiled and moved closer to Proud. They lay back on the sand. The cool breeze from the sea and the gentle lapping of the waves reminded Smith of his childhood. Sarah Proud’s breathing was becoming deeper next to him. She had fallen asleep. Within minutes, he too was asleep.

  Smith did not know how long he had been asleep when he was woken by a shrill scream. He shot up from the sand. Sarah proud opened her eyes and lay still.

  “What is it?” She whispered.

  “Did you hear that?” Smith said, “It sounded like a woman screaming.

  They looked up the path to the cliff top and spotted a figure hurrying down towards them. Sarah Proud grabbed her clothes and quickly put them on. The figure reached the bottom of the path and approached them. As it came closer, Smith realised it was an elderly woman.

  “I wonder what she wants,” Smith said.

  He was amazed at how quickly she had walked down the path. The woman said something to them but her accent made it difficult for Smith to understand what she had said.

  “What are you too up to?” The old woman said.

  She spoke more clearly this time.

  “Nothing,” Smith said, “we were just enjoying the sun.”

  “Enjoying more than that from what I could see,” she said, “frolicking naked on the beach. I saw everything. We’re not that kind of island. Holy Island. Doesn’t that mean anything to you? The likes of you two would be better off down south somewhere. Brighton or somewhere like that.”

  Smith could not believe what he was hearing.

  “My poor Harold,” the woman had not finished yet, “he’ll never be the same again. He had his binoculars on you for over an hour before I realised what was going on. I hate to think what it’s done to his poor heart.”

  Smith started to laugh. He could not help himself. Sarah Proud slapped him on the shoulder. She also had a smile on her face.

  “We’re sorry,” she said, “Mrs?”

  “McDougal,” the woman said, “Mary McDougal. Lived on the island my whole life and I’ve never seen the like of this before.”

  “We’re sorry Mary,” Smith said, “it won’t happen again.”

  “You make sure it doesn’t,” Mary turned to walk away.

  “And give our regards to Harold,” Smith added.

  Mary McDougal scurried off in disgust.

  “You’re evil,” Sarah Proud said when Mrs McDougal was out of sight.

  “Poor Harold,” Smith started to laugh again, “I think you’ve made an old man very happy.”

  “I’m hungry,” Proud stood up, “I’m going to make you the best beef stroganoff you’ve ever tasted.”

  “It’ll be the first beef whatever I’ve ever tasted,” Smith said.

  “Then you’re in for a real treat,” Proud walked off towards the path up to the cliff.

  FIFTY NINE

  Whitton sat at the table in her kitchen. Chalmers and Bridge sat opposite her. Whitton had phoned Chalmers as soon as Friedman had left. Chalmers had picked Bridge up on the way.

  “That bastard broke into your house?” Chalmers said, “And he threatened Smith’s dog?”

  “I was terrified,” Whitton was still shaking, “he was so calm about it all.”

  “Where’s Smith now?” Bridge asked, “I heard he wasn’t in his house when the fire broke out.”

  “He phoned me,” Whitton said, “he just said he was on some island off the Northumberland coast.”

  “Farne Islands?” Chalmers suggested.

  “Why would he go to the Farne Islands?” Whitton said.

  “I don’t know,” Chalmers said, “why does Smith do anything? I’ve never been able to fathom out what goes on in that head of his.”

  “I’m sure you need a boat to get to the Farne Islands,” Bridge said, “Smith hates bo
ats.”

  “What other islands are up there?” Chalmers said.

  “Holy Island,” Bridge said, “you can drive across to it when the tide is low. I went there once when I was a kid.”

  “Do you really think this Friedman character knows about Holy Island?” Chalmers said.

  “Well he seemed quite pleased with himself when he left,” Whitton said.

  “I don’t get it,” Bridge said, “how did Smith know to get out of the house before the petrol bombs were thrown through his windows? And if he is on Holy Island, how did he get there? His car was still outside his house.”

  “I reckon he had a bit of help,” Chalmers said.

  “Who would help him?” Whitton said.

  “I have no idea,” Chalmers said, “but whoever he is, he’s on Smith’s side. Have you tried phoning him?”

  Chalmers looked at Whitton.

  “Of course I’ve tried phoning him,” Whitton said, “I tried a few times but I get the same answer each time. The number you are dialling is not available, please try again later. It seems like he’s switched his phone off.”

  “What are we going to do?” Bridge asked.

  “It’s a tricky one,” Chalmers scratched his nose, “Smith’s no longer on the force, Friedman made damn sure of that.”

  “But he’s clearly in danger,” Whitton said, “You don’t know what Friedman was like. He’s a psychopath. I think he wants Smith dead.”

  “He’s got connections,” Bridge said, “I don’t know how he manages to do it but he seems to come up with some way to stop us in our tracks every time we try to get near him.”

  “We can’t just sit here and do nothing,” Whitton said, “we can’t let Friedman get away with it.”

  “Bridge is right,” Chalmers sighed, “Friedman will just use his clout to get any investigation into Smith’s disappearance squashed.”

  “So then we don’t launch an investigation,” Whitton said.

  “What do you mean?” Bridge said, “You just said...”

  “We do this on our own,” Whitton said, “We find Smith before Friedman does. We’re not going to do anything illegal; we’re just looking for a friend.”