Selene: A disturbing DS Jason Smith thriller (A DS Jason Smith Thriller Book 6)

by Stewart Giles

  “Are you hungry?” he said. “Let me buy you supper. It’s the least I can do.”

  “I could eat a Chinese,” Blakemore said.

  “Chinese it is then.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY THREE

  “Take us to the nearest Chinese restaurant,” Smith said to the driver of the taxi Blakemore and he had just got into.

  “I know just the place,” the driver drove out of the car park and headed for the city centre.

  Smith looked out of the window as the taxi drove through the deserted streets. Snow was starting to fall again. Thick flakes brushed against the windows as they drove. The driver turned left onto a side street and parked outside a familiar building. The sign for the Big Wok restaurant lit up the street.

  “They do the best chow mein in York,” the driver said. “That’ll be six quid please.”

  Smith paid the driver and opened the door for Jessica Blakemore. The snow was falling heavier now. They rushed inside the restaurant. Smith shivered when he looked up at the flat on the top floor above the restaurant. It was in darkness. He wondered if the large Chinese man had managed to find somebody else to rent it after what had happened to Christopher Riley there a few months ago.

  The Big Wok was quiet when Smith and Blakemore went inside. Mr Yin, the obese proprietor was indulging in a healthy portion of noodles at a table in the back of the restaurant. He glanced over at Smith and smiled.

  “Mr Smith,” he said. “What can I do for you?”

  “Are you still open?” Smith said.

  He looked at a strange clock on the wall. It was almost ten.

  “If doors are open then we’re open,” Yin said. “Please take a seat. Who’s your friend?”

  He looked Blakemore up and down.

  “She’s a colleague of mine.”

  Yin nodded. Smith and Blakemore sat at the table behind Yin.

  “The chef is almost finished for the night,” Yin said. “Would it be ok if you order soon? Would you like something to drink?”

  “Two beers please, and two chicken chow meins.”

  “Billy,” Yin shouted in his high pitched voice.

  A skinny waiter appeared from the back room, looked at Smith and Blakemore and bowed his head.

  “Billy, two chicken chow meins and two Tsing Taos.”

  The waiter backed into the kitchen with his head still bowed.

  “Mr Smith,” Yin said. “Why don’t you catch that man who killed my tenant? It’s over two months now.”

  “We’ll find whoever did this, and we’ll lock them up for a very long time. Have you managed to find another tenant?”

  “What do you think? Who wants to rent a flat where someone got murdered? No, this has cost me plenty of money.”

  The waiter arrived with two large bottles of Chinese beer. Smith eyed the bottles suspiciously.

  “Very good beer,” Yin said. “I don’t drink but this is good beer. Made from rice - keeps you very regular.”

  The waiter poured the beers and left. Yin pushed his chair back and with great effort managed to lift his considerable bulk into a standing position.

  “If you’ll excuse me,” he said. “I have to cash up now. Enjoy the food.”

  He wobbled off to his office. He reminded Smith of a silverback gorilla.

  “I didn’t know this place was where the first guy died,” Blakemore said when they were alone.

  “Christopher Riley,” Smith said. “He rented the flat above the restaurant.”

  “It’s quite creepy actually. I mean, we’re sitting here about to eat a meal a few metres from where a man was brutally killed.”

  “I didn’t know the taxi driver was going to bring us here. Besides, I never had you pegged for someone who freaked out easily.”

  “I’m not. It’s just weird that’s all - weird that we find ourselves back where it all started.”

  She took a sip of her beer and winced.

  “This stuff tastes awful,” she said.

  The waiter returned and placed two plates of chicken chow mein on the table in front of them.

  “Enjoy your food,” he said. “I’m supposed to be finished now but I can wait around if you need anything else.”

  “Its fine,” Smith said. “We’ll just eat and run. You can bring the bill if you like.”

  “On the house,” the waiter said. “Mr Yin seems to like you.”

  He disappeared to the back of the restaurant again.

  Smith and Blakemore ate in silence for a while. Neither of them touched the beer.

  “That taxi driver was right,” Smith said. “I don’t usually eat Chinese food but this chow mein is delicious.”

  He finished eating and place his knife and fork on the plate.

  “I’m stuffed,” he sighed.

  Yin emerged from the back room and smiled at the empty plates. He handed Smith and Blakemore each a plate with a strange looking biscuit on it.

  “Fortune cookies,” he said.

  “I thought that was an American thing,” Smith said.

  “It is, but the tourists seem to like them. No peeking though. Fortune only comes true if you keep it a secret.”

  Blakemore opened hers first. On a small piece of paper were six words, ‘You’re very close to your dream’.

  “Read yours,” Blakemore said. “It’s just a bit of a laugh.”

  Smith shook his head and opened up the fortune cookie. He read the words on the piece of paper.

  ‘Be very careful of wolf dressed as sheep’.

  He smiled, crumpled up the piece of paper and put it in his pocket.

  “Just a bit of fun,” Yin winked at Smith.

  “I think we’ve kept you here for long enough,” Smith stood up. “Thank you so much Mr Yin, that was delicious. Are you sure I can’t pay for it?”

  “No need Mr Smith, on the house. Besides, I’ve already cashed up for the day. I’m tired now. I need my sleep.”

  “What did your fortune cookie say?” Blakemore asked Smith outside the restaurant.

  “Something about getting plenty of sleep,” Smith lied. “What about yours?”

  “I’ve forgotten already. What now? Shall we call for a taxi?”

  “I feel like a walk. I need to walk off all that food. My house is only about a mile from here. I can phone a taxi for you if you want.”

  “I’ll walk with you, if that’s alright?”

  “Let’s go then,” Smith said.

  He was overcome by a sudden unease - he felt like he was crossing some kind of imaginary line.

  I’ll phone Whitton as soon as I get home, he thought, as soon as Jessica Blakemore has gone, I’ll phone her and tell her everything is going to be alright.

  “This is my house here,” Smith said. “Thanks for walking with me. Do you want me to phone for a taxi now?’

  “I’m freezing,” Blakemore said. “Can I wait inside?”

  Smith opened the front door and they went inside. Theakston was waiting in the hallway. His tail stopped wagging the instant he saw Jessica Blakemore standing there. He started to growl at her.

  “That’s enough,” Smith said. “That’s just rude. Where are your manners?”

  He smiled at Blakemore.

  “Sorry, he’s not used to strangers. I have the number of that taxi company around here somewhere. Where are you staying tonight? Still with Brownhill?”

  “I was,” Blakemore said. “But I thought I’d give her and Webber a bit of privacy. They haven’t been getting on so well recently. I know this is a big ask but would you mind if I stayed here tonight? I’ll sleep on the sofa”

  “I don’t know, I don’t think that’s such a good idea.”

  “You’re right. Of course you’re right. What was I thinking? I’ll check into a hotel for the night. Do you have the number of that taxi firm?”

  Smith thought hard for a second.

  “You can sleep on the sofa,” he said and instantly regretted it.

  He felt an unpleasant burning sensation in his
stomach.

  “Are you sure?” Blakemore shook off her shoes before Smith had a chance to answer.

  “Of course, do you want some coffee?”

  “Love some.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY FOUR

  Tuesday 8 February 2011

  Smith woke to the sound of his mobile phone ringing on the table next to the bed. He rubbed his eyes and answered it. It was Whitton.

  “Hey,” Whitton said. “Did I wake you?”

  “No,” Smith said. “I mean yes. I was almost awake anyway.”

  “Are you at home?”

  “Of course I’m at home.”

  “I’m turning into your road now. Don’t worry, I come in peace. I’ve brought you breakfast.”

  She rang off.

  Smith shot up in bed.

  “Shit,” he remembered that Jessica Blakemore had slept on his sofa.

  He quickly got dressed and went downstairs. He heard the sound of a car door closing outside and started to panic.

  Think, he thought, I did nothing wrong, she just spent the night on the sofa.

  There was a knock on the door. Jessica Blakemore was nowhere to be seen. Smith opened the door. Whitton was standing there holding a brown paper bag.

  “I’m sorry I was a real cow yesterday,” she said. “I should know you better than that by now. I’ve brought some chocolate donuts. Are you going to let me in?”

  “Of course,” Smith said. “Come in. I just have to warn you…”

  Smith was too late. Jessica Blakemore emerged from the living room. She was wearing a T shirt and nothing else. She stood behind Smith and smiled at Whitton.

  “Morning,” Blakemore said to Whitton. “I’ll put the kettle on.”

  “What the hell is going on?” Whitton dropped the bag of donuts on the step and two of them fell out.

  “It’s not what it looks like,” Smith said and wished he had said something else.

  “I can see what it looks like.”

  She turned round and walked back to her car.

  “Erica,” Smith called after her. “Come back. I can explain.”

  It was no use. Whitton got in her car, started the engine and sped off down the street.

  “Damn it,” Smith said.

  Theakston had discovered the donuts and managed to eat two of them before Smith could stop him. Smith picked up the bag and an incredible sadness washed over him. He closed the front door and walked through to the kitchen. Theakston followed closely behind - the promise of more chocolate donuts was too good an opportunity to pass up on.

  Smith sat at the kitchen table with his head in his hands.

  “Sorry,” Blakemore said. “I messed things up a bit there didn’t I?”

  Smith didn’t say anything.

  What was I thinking? He thought, letting this woman sleep here last night. It was only going to end badly.

  “I think you’d better leave,” he said.

  “I’m supposed to be helping you out today.”

  “Ask Brownhill if she can pick you up. I don’t think it’s a good idea for us to be seen arriving at the station together.”

  “Why? Nothing happened. I slept on your sofa. End of story.”

  “Are you completely stupid? I’m going for a shower. I don’t want you here when I get back downstairs.”

  He stood up and walked upstairs to the bathroom. He turned on the shower, undressed and stood underneath the jets. He turned up the temperature until the water burned his skin - he wanted to punish himself. He then turned the hot water off completely and stood for as long as he could stand under the freezing cold water. When he felt himself getting numb, he turned off the shower and stood there watching the droplets of water drip off his body. He was covered in gooseflesh. He dried himself off, got dressed and went back downstairs. Jessica Blakemore was gone.

  Smith turned on the kettle and made some coffee. The bag of donuts lay on the kitchen table. Theakston was still staring at them. Smith took the coffee outside and sat down on the bench. He lit a cigarette and looked up at the sky. More snow clouds were forming overhead.

  When is this winter ever going to end? He thought.

  He contemplated phoning Whitton to explain everything but he knew it wouldn’t do any good - it would be better to let her calm down a bit first. He finished the cigarette and lit another one. He heard a commotion from inside the house. He rushed inside and saw that Theakston had succeeded in reaching the donuts on the table – he’d dragged them down to the floor but in doing so the dog had managed to knock over two chairs and he was now trying to escape from the one that landed on top of him. Smith started to laugh. The sight of the poor dog pinned down by the kitchen chair was hilarious. Chocolate was smeared all over his face. Smith managed to contain himself and lifted the chair back up.

  “That’ll teach you,” he said. “That’ll teach you for being such a pig. What am I going to do about Whitton? You were here - you know it was all innocent. I wish you could talk sometimes.”

  Smith went back outside and finished his coffee. He locked the back door, picked up his car keys and left the house. He took the long route to the station. He wasn’t in any hurry to get there today. He crossed over the river and turned left. He drove towards the Minster in the distance. As he got closer to it he was aware of a strange noise. He slowed down and stopped. He got out of the car and listened. The noise was still there - a rhythmic thumping sound like a bass drum in an oompha band. Chanting could be heard along with the beat. Smith got back in his car and drove to where he thought the sounds were coming from. He turned right and was met with a wall of people. They were marching slowly through the city. Smith estimated there to be at least three hundred of them. They were chanting and wielding banners with the words ‘Immigrants go home’ on them.

  Suddenly something was thrown through the windscreen of Smith’s car. Smith managed to duck just in time. The brick had shattered the windscreen but it hit the seat behind him. Smith picked it up and placed it on the seat beside him. The crowd of people seemed to be getting closer. He quickly engaged reverse gear and slammed his foot on the accelerator. His red Ford Sierra screamed backwards, turned the corner and crashed into a parked van. Smith put the car into first and sped off in the opposite direction. When he decided he was a safe distance from the crowd of people, he stopped the car and got out to inspect the damage. The wing mirror on the left hand side of the car had been ripped off and there was a huge dent in the door but apart from that the car appeared to be in one piece. He checked to see if his windscreen was still safe - the brick had gone straight through but Smith knew he could still drive the car. He patted the roof of the car, got back in and drove the most direct route to the station.

  By the time Smith parked his car in the car park at the station he was drenched in sweat. The incident with the protestors had unnerved him. He got out of the car and walked inside the station. He ignored Baldwin at the front desk and walked straight down the corridor to Chalmers’ office. He went inside without knocking.

  “We’ve got big trouble,” he said to Chalmers.

  Chalmers was talking on the phone. He waved his hand in the air to tell Smith to be quiet. He finished the call.

  “What the hell happened to you?” he said.

  “We’ve got big trouble,” Smith said again. “They’re marching in the city centre. They’re protesting against the immigrants.”

  “I know. We’ve had reports of them breaking the windows of foreign owned shops. Nobody seems to have been hurt yet though.”

  “I nearly was. They threw a brick through my windscreen.”

  “What were you doing down there? The call only came in a few minutes ago.”

  “I was driving to work,” Smith said. “Taking the scenic route.”

  “It’ll all blow over. Uniform are sorting things out as we speak. This country’s gone mad. What’s wrong with people these days? You’re bleeding by the way.”

  He pointed to Smith’s forehead. A tiny piece of glass had
scraped the skin and a thin trickle of blood was seeping out.

  “I’ll live,” Smith said. “I suppose I should get to work. We’re still no closer with this Selene Lupei woman.”

  “Stick to your gut - it’s never let you down before.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY FIVE

  Smith left Chalmers’ office and headed straight for the canteen. His heart started to beat faster when he spotted Whitton. She was about to go into the canteen.

  “Whitton,” he said. “We need to talk.”

  “There’s nothing to talk about.”

  “Nothing happened. She just slept on the sofa. That’s all. She had nowhere else to go.”

  “I’m not interested.”

  “Please, let me explain.”

  Whitton looked Smith in the eyes. Smith thought she looked as if she had been crying. He moved closer and put his hand on her shoulder. She brushed it away.

  “Just stay away from me,” she turned round and walked down the corridor.

  Bridge and yang Chu were standing next to each other when Smith walked in the canteen. They were staring at something out of the window.

  “What’s going on?” Smith said.

  “Look at that,” Yang Chu pointed to the snowstorm outside. “I’ve never seen anything like that before.”

  Smith moved closer to see what Yang Chu was talking about. A spectacular blizzard was blowing outside. Visibility was virtually nil. A violent squall of snow had obscured the view of the city. Large snowflakes were attacking the windowpane with a vengeance.

  “I reckon this is the start of the next ice age,” Bridge said. “They say we’re about due for another one.”

  “Rubbish,” Smith said. “It’s just winter in the north of England.”

  “You’ll see. You’ve been warned.”

  “At least it’ll keep those morons off the streets,” Yang Chu said. “I heard their march was short lived. They were no match for the weather. What’s happening between you and Whitton Sarge?”

  Yang Chu looked at Smith.

  “Nothing,” Smith said.

  “She seems upset. I think she’s been crying.”