The York Trilogy: The First 3 DS Jason Smith Detective novels

by Stewart Giles

  The diary ended there. Smith could not understand it. There was nothing more to read. He examined the diary and saw why it had ended there. The last page had been carefully torn out. Smith heard an alarm. The pizza was cooked.

  FIFTY

  BULL TERRIER

  Tuesday 16 March 2010

  “The Lake District?” Lucy exclaimed, “Sounds wonderful. I’ve heard a lot about it but I’ve never been there.”

  “We’re taking Theakston,” Smith smiled, “he needs a holiday too.”

  Smith parked his car outside his house and stopped the engine.

  “This is my place here,” he said, “not quite fit for a millionaire but its home.”

  “It’s perfect,” Lucy said.

  She got out of the car and followed Smith inside the house. Theakston immediately jumped up at her legs.

  “He likes you,” Smith said, “He’s got good taste.”

  He patted the dog on the head.

  “I must admit Jason,” Lucy said, “This is not quite what I expected.”

  “What do you mean?” Smith asked.

  “I’d pictured you as a serial bachelor and I expected your place to be a real bloke pad but it’s actually quite homely.”

  “It was my Gran’s house,” Smith said, “she left it to me when she died. Anyway, what the hell is a bloke pad?”

  “You know,” Lucy smiled, “fridge in the living room full of beers. That sort of thing.”

  Smith looked at her. She did not look like she had just flown halfway around the world. Her eyes were shining.

  “What are we doing today?” Lucy asked.

  “I thought you’d be tired after the flight,” he replied, “I thought you’d want to rest for a bit.”

  “I’m so used to flying now that it doesn’t faze me anymore. When are we off to the Lake District?”

  “Tomorrow morning.”

  “Let’s go now,” Lucy suggested, “it’s not that far to drive is it? Let’s get away from this place. You need to put York out of your head for a few days. Just the two of us.”

  Theakston nudged his head against her leg.

  “Three of us,” Smith corrected her.

  An hour later Smith had turned onto the A59 and they were heading in the direction of Harrogate.

  “Look at that,” Smith said. He pointed to the sky.

  “Look at what?” Lucy asked.

  “Blue sky. Not a cloud in sight. We could go down in history as two of the people who actually didn’t get rained on in the Lake District.”

  Lucy laughed.

  “How long have you had this car Jason?” she asked.

  “Four or five years,” he replied, “why?”

  “I think you need to trade it in for a newer model.”

  “What?” Smith said, “This baby will go on forever.”

  He patted the steering wheel. Theakston had fallen asleep on the back seat and was snoring loudly. Smith turned onto the A65 and headed for Kendal. He smiled as the sunshine warmed the roof of the car. This was just what he needed, he thought, a few days away to forget about everything that had happened. As he passed Kendal and headed north Smith realised that Lucy had fallen asleep. He smiled as he looked at her face. She was breathing deeply. He marvelled at the scenery as he got closer to the Lake District. The fells around him made him think of the time his father had taken them to the Porongurup Mountains in Western Australia when he was a child. Clouds were forming over the hills now and Smith sighed. He remembered a documentary he had once watched about the Lake District. A famous celebrity, Smith could not remember her name, had interviewed a local man in Windermere and asked about the rainfall in the area. She had suggested that if it did not rain so much they would probably get more visitors. The man had scowled at her and informed her that if it did not rain so much there would be no bloody lakes and the visitors would have nothing to look at anyway.

  Smith parked his car in the car park of the Red Lion Hotel in Grasmere. Lucy was still asleep. Theakston was now awake and was nudging the door to tell Smith he wanted to get out. Smith kissed Lucy on the forehead and she woke up.

  “We’re here,” he said, “Grasmere. This is the hotel.”

  The Red Lion Hotel was an impressive old white building. It had a very rustic feel to it; ivy covered the whole of one of the lower panels. Smith put the lead on Theakston, they walked inside and headed for the reception desk.

  “Good afternoon,” he said to the woman behind the desk, “we’re booked in for tomorrow but we couldn’t wait so we came a day earlier. I hope that’s not a problem.”

  He smiled at the receptionist.

  “No problem,” the woman smiled back at Smith, “could I have your name please?”

  “Jason Smith,” Smith replied.

  The woman clicked on the mouse and looked at the computer screen in front of her. “Jason Smith,” she said, “two adults and a dog.”

  “That’s right.” Smith said.

  “We do have a room for you tonight,” she said.

  She handed Smith a form to fill in.

  “If you could just complete this,” she said, “I’ll organise you a key. Where’s the dog?”

  Smith pointed to Theakston who was lying on Lucy’s feet.

  “Oh dear,” the receptionist said when she looked at Theakston, “that is going to be a problem.”

  “Problem?” Smith repeated, “I thought dogs were welcome here. It says so on the website.”

  “Dogs are very welcome,” the receptionist said, “but if you’d checked the terms and conditions you’ll have seen that certain kinds of dogs are not allowed and that’s…”

  She pointed to Theakston.

  “A dog.” Smith smiled.

  “But it’s a Bull Terrier,” she said.

  “He’s not your typical Bull Terrier,” Smith insisted, “he’s very well behaved. He’s so lazy he doesn’t move unless he really has to. You won’t even know he’s here.”

  The receptionist shook her head.

  “As luck would have it,” she said, “the owner of the hotel is out of the country on business. He would never allow it but he doesn’t have to know. The dog can stay but I’m afraid if there’s any trouble you’ll have to leave immediately.”

  “There won’t be any trouble,” Smith smiled, “I’ll make sure he doesn’t drink too much.”

  Smith signed the form and handed it back to the woman. She gave him the room key.

  “Room eight,” she said, “go up the stairs. It’s on the right hand side near the end of the corridor. We hope you have a pleasant stay.”

  She sighed as she watched Theakston lollop after Smith and Lucy up the stairs.

  “This is awesome,” Lucy said as she looked out of the window in their room. They had a view of the hills surrounding Grasmere.

  “What do you want to do?” Smith asked, “Are you still tired?”

  “You’re obsessed with being tired,” Lucy laughed, “let’s go for a walk. Let’s go and explore the lake.”

  FIFTY ONE

  VALENTINES DAY

  “See you tomorrow,” Chalmers said to Whitton. He was sitting in the canteen with her and Bridge.

  “See you sir,” Whitton said, “it seems strange without Smith around doesn’t it?”

  “Peaceful,” Chalmers mused, “exactly how I like it.”

  “Did the super ever find out who leaked the stuff to the press?” Whitton asked.

  “Not yet, but he’s adamant he’ll find out. Smith had better keep his mouth shut.”

  “Do you fancy a drink?” Bridge asked.

  “I’m tired,” Whitton replied, “these past few weeks have really taken it out of me. I think I’ll just go home, have a bath and watch a new DVD I bought.”

  “Can I at least give you a lift home?” Bridge asked.

  “I think I’ll walk. Take advantage of the sunshine while we have it. I’ll see you tomorrow.”

  Whitton left the station, walked up Fulford road and turned left
on to Fishergate. The sun was beating down on her face and she felt happy for the first time in weeks. She would have a nice bath and put on the DVD. The Girl with the Dragon Tattoo, the original Swedish version. She might even open the bottle of wine that someone had left on her doorstep on Valentines Day. There had been no note but she was sure it was left by Bridge although he had denied it emphatically. She crossed the Bridge over the River Foss and turned on to Tower Street. The river Ouse was flowing rapidly on her left. She passed the old dungeon and walked across the bridge over the river. She stopped outside her house. One of the windows in the front was open. She could not remember leaving a window open that morning. I must have opened it, she thought as she put the key in the lock, this serial killer business is playing with my head.

  Whitton took the wine out of the fridge and opened it. She poured herself a large glass and put the bottle back in the fridge. It was a Chardonnay. Australian. She took the wine upstairs with her and ran a bath. As she lay in the warm bath with the glass of wine in her hand she smiled. This is just what the doctor ordered, she thought. The wine had already hit the spot and she felt relaxed already. She thought about Smith and Lucy and their trip to the Lake District. She wondered whether she should phone him to see how everything was going but decided against it immediately. He needs the break, she pondered, besides, he has Lucy now. She thought about how she was going to let Bridge down gently. He had become far too intense for her and she really did not need that at the moment. The wine was making her head spin so she got out the bath and dried herself off. She was sure she heard a noise from downstairs. Her heart started to beat faster but when she listened again everything was quiet. I’m hearing things now, she smiled as she finished drying herself. She got dressed and walked back downstairs. She took out the wine and poured herself another glass. The first glass had gone down well and she was feeling quite drunk. She took the bottle with her and put it on the coffee table. She put the DVD in the machine and pressed play. She opted for the dubbed version as she did not feel like concentrating on subtitles. She took a sip of the wine. She was feeling very tipsy now. She could not understand how she could get so drunk in such a short space of time; she could normally hold her drink. Her arms and legs felt heavy and she was starting to see double.

  “Hello Erica,” a voice was heard from the doorway.

  Whitton looked up but the figure standing there was blurred.

  “How’s the wine?” the man asked.

  Whitton recognised the voice immediately but it could not be him. It was impossible. He was locked up in a maximum security facility.

  “Happy Valentines Day Erica,” the man said.

  “You?” Whitton slurred, “How?”

  “Things aren’t always as they seem,” the man laughed.

  Whitton tried to get up but her legs did not obey her. They felt like they were glued to the sofa.

  “Benzodiazepine,” the man smiled, “if you’d looked very carefully at the wine bottle you’d have seen the tiny hole in the cork but you didn’t look carefully did you Erica? You’re supposed to be a police detective. If you’d acted like one you could have prevented all this from happening.”

  Whitton looked at the man as he came closer. His movements were all a blur and she could not make out his features but she did recognise his eyes. They were bright blue. Too blue. She tried to raise her arm to fend him off but she had no strength left.

  “You should have checked the wine bottle Erica,” the man said, “maybe then you wouldn’t have had to die.”

  Whitton could no longer hear him.

  FIFTY TWO

  SMITH ISLAND

  Smith and Lucy walked hand in hand down the path that led to the lake. The sun was beating down and the clouds had dispersed. Smith had ignored the ‘dogs must be kept on a lead at all times’ signs and Theakston had bounded off into the distance. They had the whole place to themselves. Smith looked at Lucy and smiled. He had ten days off work. He had never had this long off work before. The reached the edge of the lake and Smith threw a stone into the middle. Theakston debated whether to try and fetch it but decided against it. There was a small island in the middle of the lake.

  “Do you think they hire out boats?” Lucy asked, “I want to go to that island. It looks so isolated. So perfect.”

  Smith squeezed her hand.

  “I hate boats,” he said, “let’s walk around the whole lake.”

  The followed the path anticlockwise around the lake.

  “I could live here,” Lucy said.

  “You’d go mad,” Smith insisted, “besides, you should see this place in the summer. You can’t move for tourists.”

  “I’d love to live on that little island,” Lucy mused, “it would be so peaceful.”

  “You’re the rich one,” Smith said, “why don’t you buy it?”

  “Don’t give me ideas. I’d build a little cottage on the island. It would be just perfect. Smith Island. That’s what I’d call it.”

  “You’re not right in the head Lucy Maclean,” Smith smiled, “where’s that dog got to?”

  Theakston had run far ahead of them. When they had caught up to him he was staring at his own reflection in the water of the lake.

  The clouds had reappeared by the time Smith and Lucy walked back through the village.

  “It’s going to rain,” Lucy observed, “you promised me sunshine.”

  “It always rains here,” Smith said, “that’s why there are so many lakes. Are you hungry?”

  “Starving,” Lucy replied, “let’s go to the pub next to our hotel.”

  The Lamb Inn was a quaint English pub attached to The Red Lion Hotel. Smith and Lucy walked inside and approached the bar.

  “Is he alright in here?” Smith asked the elderly bar man. He pointed at Theakston.

  “If he behaves,” the barman said, “he’s welcome. Fine looking dog. Bull Terriers get a bad rap but it’s all unfounded. They’re brilliant dogs.”

  “Thanks,” Smith swelled up with pride.

  “Can I get you anything to drink?” the barman asked.

  Smith looked at the vast array of beers they had on offer.

  “We’ll have two pints of that,” he said. He pointed to the Cumberland Ale.

  “Good choice,” the barman said, “you’re Australian aren’t you?”

  “Unfortunately,” Smith replied, “but I’ve been living in York for over ten years now.”

  “Take a seat,” the barman said, “I’ll bring your drinks over. Do you want a couple of menus too?”

  “That would be great,” Smith replied.

  He walked over to a table by the window. The first drops of rain had started to fall on the road outside.

  “You’re a copper aren’t you?” the barman asked Smith. He put the beers on the table and handed Smith and Lucy a menu each.

  “How did you know that?” Smith was astonished.

  “You’ve got that air about you. Besides I’ve seen your photo in the papers. You’re the one that was in charge of the hunt for that serial killer in York. Give me a shout when you’re ready to order.”

  Smith was annoyed.

  “There’s just no way to get away from it is there?” he said to Lucy.

  “Relax Jason,” she said, “You were in all the papers. People are just curious by nature. Besides, it’s all over now. Fulton is behind bars. Let’s enjoy ourselves. What are you going to have to eat?”

  “I suppose you’re right as usual,” Smith said, “I see they have a steak and ale pie on the menu. I wonder if it’s as good as Marge’s at The Hog’s Head.”

  “This tastes great,” Lucy said. She took another sip of the beer. “I could get used to this.”

  Theakston had fallen asleep on Lucy’s feet. He was snoring again.

  “Your dog has no manners,” Lucy smiled, “he’s a real darling though.”

  “He’s been my best friend since I got him,” Smith said, “he’s the only one that could put up with me.”

/>   “What about Whitton?”

  “What about her? You’re still convinced she has a thing for me aren’t you?”

  “I’m a woman Jason,” Lucy said, “Women can sense these things. I’m going to try the Cumberland sausage. Cumberland sausage and Cumberland Ale. Perfect combination.” She finished the rest of the beer.

  “I’ll go and order then,” Smith said, “another beer too?”

  “Oh yes,” Lucy smiled.

  Smith ordered the Cumberland sausage and a steak and ale pie for himself.

  I’ve become a real creature of habit, he thought as he waited for the barman to pour the beers. His phone beeped in his pocket to tell him he had a message but he ignored it. I’m on holiday, he thought.

  It was starting to get dark outside as Smith put the beers on the table and sat down. The rain was coming down in buckets now. Smith took a long swig of his beer and stared at Lucy. She did not notice; she was busy staring at the pictures on the wall of the pub.

  “What are you looking at?” she asked when she met his gaze.

  “I’m looking at the best looking girl in the pub,” he smiled.

  “I’m the only girl in the pub you loon,” she said.

  Her eyes were slightly bloodshot from the beer. Her blue eye was more bloodshot that the green one.

  “What happened to your eyes?” Smith asked.

  “What do you mean?” Lucy replied, “What’s wrong with my eyes?”

  “Nothing. I didn’t mean it like that, they’re beautiful eyes. I love your eyes but didn’t they both use to be blue?”

  “They were both blue,” Lucy said, “but one of them turned green a few years ago. It was during a particularly stressful time in the business. David had risked just about everything we owned and a lot we didn’t own on one single deal. If it had fallen through we would have been left with nothing.”