An Accidental Death: A DC Smith Investigation

by Peter Grainger

  ‘We don’t need any decisions this afternoon.’

  ‘I suppose we could make a discreet inquiry about Captain Hamilton.’

  Smith coughed politely and raised his eyebrows.

  ‘Oh. Right. Anything else?’

  He told her about the two constables that would go down to the river tomorrow morning, and she nodded and thought a little more.

  ‘DC, I can’t give you an answer now. Give me the weekend, and see me Monday. Haven’t you got your first drugs awareness thing then, as well?’

  ‘After lunch, at Upham. A nice way for them to start the new year.’

  ‘Come back in and see me then.’

  ‘Will do.’

  He stood up, already making for the door, anxious not to delay her any longer.

  ‘DC? It’s uncanny, isn’t it? How this stuff just follows you around? Why is that?’

  He paused in the doorway.

  ‘It’s partly me – you could say I ask for it. But it’s not only that. If I get pointed in a certain direction, certain results might follow. But I don’t always do the pointing, do I?’

  ‘I suppose not. Have a good weekend, DC.’

  When he had gone, she picked up her bag as if to head straight for the door herself, knowing that she would not do so. She would be a little late for the appointment. Everything he had just said was true – she had put this in front of him, she had pointed him in this direction and now, slowly, it was gathering some sort of momentum. Why had she done that? Where was it going? She more than liked him – she admired him, respected him above all other officers – but he was dangerous to know sometimes. She had heard all the comments over the years: too wayward, a loose cannon, even toxic to the careers of other officers. She had to think about that – and so she returned to her desk, took out her diary and began to write notes about the events of the afternoon.

  Chapter Ten

  ‘So, the question was “Why do people take drugs in the first place?” We have to know that, don’t we? If we know what motivates someone to do something, we can begin to work out how to avoid that behavior, and how to deal with the consequences that result from that behaviour if someone cannot avoid it.’

  They were listening now. There had been none of the smirking and giggling that you expect when dealing with younger kids; these were sixth formers, very conscious of their position as ‘young adults’ – at least he thought that was the correct terminology now – but there had been just a hint of the old anti-authority, left-wing nonsense, probably harking back to their parents’ days. Still, no-one had muttered “Pigs” as far as he knew. And now they were listening.

  ‘We’ve had some decent answers. Because of peer pressure. To impress someone – a boy or a girl or someone in between – it makes no odds, the motivation is the same. To find out what all the fuss is about – curiosity. To make a statement, to rebel against society’s norms. Who are all these blokes called ‘Norm’ by the way, and why do we care what they think?’

  A few smiles at his terrible jokes, and a pause to let them take in what he was saying, too. As soon as he’d got to the front he had seen Melanie Carter and Steven Neale, sitting together in the second row. They had tried to catch his eye without it being noticed by any of the others – wanted some recognition that he had not forgotten them, not forgotten Wayne, perhaps.

  ‘I don’t want you to take this the wrong way but I’m afraid that those are all the usual answers. Those are the answers that you’ve learned from the PHSE lessons you had further down the school – remember how you told me at the start that you’d done this a hundred times before? Think about it. If I caught one of you smoking a joint outside after this session, and I asked you why you were doing it, what would you say? Would you say to me “Oh well, officer, I am smoking this to rebel against the norms of my society. And I’m hoping to impress that new girl in year 11, too”? No, it isn’t very likely, is it?’

  Waters was sitting behind and to his left, watching the crowd, who were laughing again, and Smith thought, if he was sitting out there amongst them, I’d be hard put to pick him out from the upper sixth.

  ‘I’m going to share with you what I believe is the main reason why people keep on taking drugs after that first experience – and I’m probably about to get into trouble. Again.’ He looked up at the two or three tutors who had hung around at the back, and at the stern, matronly lady who had told him she was an assistant principal. The group had fallen silent, waiting.

  ‘Drugs make you feel terrific, different drugs in different ways. The old-fashioned word ‘high’ was actually spot on. You feel ten feet tall. You feel funnier, stronger, cleverer, probably even sexier. You feel more talented, more creative, more real and more unreal at the same time. You feel wonderful.’

  The old dear was not sitting down any more – up on her feet, worried looks to the other tutors and then a glare directly at Smith. A couple of the students had laughed, others looked simply surprised and one wag in the front row had said to his neighbour “Far out!” Then a hand went up. Smith nodded to the questioner.

  ‘How do you know all that?’

  The implication was plain enough and there was more laughter, including Smith’s own.

  ‘Because I worked in the drugs squad for several years. I talked to hundreds of people – I wasn’t just arresting them. I learned a lot.’

  Another voice shouted out a question, seeing an opportunity for glory.

  ‘Were you in the vice squad as well?’

  It had the desired effect, and he waited for quiet once more.

  ‘Yes, I was, briefly. But I’m not going into detail about what I learned there, son. I don’t want to get you all hot and bothered this early in the day.’

  A few giggles and a red face put an end to that.

  ‘There’s a connection, of course. Many of the people we deal with in vice matters are only there because of their dependence on drugs. To get those feelings that I was describing is expensive, isn’t it, you know that. That ‘wonderful’ feeling is only temporary, and the more you go after it, the more temporary it becomes. A very sad young lady once said to me “It’s never as good as the first time.” She knew that it was hopeless, looking for that ‘wonderful’ feeling again but she couldn’t stop trying. She really could not stop – and she was educated, like you, and young, like you. And she was beautiful, too…’

  A long silence this time. The assistant principal sat down again. A small, studious-looking girl in the front row raised her hand, and Smith smiled at her.

  ‘What happened to her?’

  ‘She died.’

  He nodded and let it sink in.

  ‘I won’t go into details because – well, because most of you would find it too distressing, and that’s not what I came here to do. But she died alone, in a bedsit, not a hundred miles from here. She was an addict, obviously. But you know, I always think that the real price is paid by the family and the friends left behind. They always blame themselves, they always believe that they could have done more. If you can stop one friend from going that way, you’ll be averting more misery than you can imagine. If you can stop yourself, you’ll be saving your family from more heartache than they could ever deserve, however hard they seem to be on you sometimes. If you can’t… Well, at least you’ll feel wonderful for a few minutes. Any questions?’

  There were.

  Smith sat in the car with the door open, the day’s second cigarette in his hand, held low and outside, feeling like a naughty schoolboy. Across the car park and up on the steps into the school’s main entrance he could see Waters still trying very politely to escape the clutches of the assistant principal – she actually had hold of his arm now as she continued talking earnestly up into the young detective’s face. Smith chuckled quietly and said through the smoke, ‘Oh dear!’

  When Waters finally arrived, he slumped into the passenger seat and closed his eyes – Smith flicked the end out of the half-smoked cigarette and put the remains back in the
packet.

  ‘Thanks, DC!’

  ‘What for?’

  ‘Leaving me alone in there.’

  ‘Well, I needed a pee, and then I assumed it was all over, so I came out here. What on earth have you been doing all this time?’

  ‘I’m sure you could see.’

  ‘So… How was Madame Guillotine? Really annoyed or only pretending?’

  Waters opened his eyes and turned to face Smith.

  ‘No, she wasn’t annoyed, not at all. She said your approach was “highly unorthodox but effective” – she thought you’d got through to them, and asked me to pass on her thanks.’

  ‘Well, as long as you don’t want to hold onto me while you do it.’

  ‘I knew you’d be watching.’

  A distant electric bell sounded. Groups of uniformed pupils began moving to and from different parts of the buildings, pouring out of some doorways and queuing up in suitably disorderly fashion to re-enter at others. The two of them sat and watched for a moment.

  ‘Education, eh?’

  Waters nodded, still watching, saying nothing.

  ‘I don’t know how I know this – probably my wife’s crossword habit, not that we ever had a cross word, naturally… But it comes from a Latin word, ducere, to lead. So education means ‘leading’. Where the hell are we leading them to now, eh?’

  Waters turned back to look at Smith before he answered.

  ‘That looks like a pretty good school to me.’

  ‘As far as I know, yes. It gets good OFSTEDs and all that. Hits all its targets, I expect.’

  ‘But?’

  ‘I meant more in general, you know? As a society – what we teach in schools, and the way we teach it – says a lot, I reckon.’

  When Waters didn’t respond, Smith smiled and pushed the keys into the ignition.

  ‘You do learn quickly. There’s nothing more boring than a philosophical policeman!’

  ‘No, I was just wondering. What about you, your own education?’

  ‘Dark Ages – a ruler across the knuckle for writing left-handed, a fifteen mile walk to and from – no, I’m being stupid there. I was one of the lucky ones. I went to grammar school off the council estate. Only got in on the third and final attempt, and I struggled a bit at first. Culture shock and all that. But it’s stood me in good stead.’

  ‘That’s where the Latin comes from.’

  Smith still hadn’t turned the key. The pupils had all but disappeared from view and the final lessons of the afternoon must be underway. In his mind’s eye, he could still picture Mr Sheringham, the Latin teacher - long sideburns, wearing the master’s gown, smelling of pipe-smoke, eccentric but kindly.

  ‘And then Uni?’

  Odd, Smith thought, how these days they all assume that everyone who could tie their own shoelaces also went to university in the past. It isn’t their fault but they have no idea.

  ‘No. I got some A levels, I was sort of looking into it but it was the mid 70s. Do you know any history?’

  ‘A bit.’

  ‘The whole economy was in a tailspin. Inflation was over 20 per cent if I remember rightly. Unemployment shooting up. Anyway, my dad was suddenly out of work, and my mum was struggling – I was one of three. University didn’t really figure any more at that point.’

  ‘So what did you do?’

  Smith turned the key to the first position and the dashboard lights came on.

  ‘I joined up.’

  ‘The police force?’

  ‘No, the Army, an A level entry scheme. One less mouth to feed at home. And I thought that way I’d at least travel the world and meet interesting people. After they got me fit, made me sit in a classroom some more and taught me to shoot straight, they sent me to Northern Ireland. Twice.’

  Waters looked away across the car park.

  ‘How did that work out?’

  ‘I was right about one thing. I did get to meet some interesting people.’

  He sent Waters down to the duty desk to look for Charlie Hills who should have the photographs by now. While he waited, he went online and checked through his emails; it was unusual for Harrington to take this long to respond. Normally he would phone but maybe this time… No, nothing. Perhaps his contact had moved on somewhere. He would ring later, just to check - then he might have to find another way. His interest in Captain Hamilton had not diminished over the weekend.

  Waters had a different face on this time when he returned.

  ‘Sergeant Hills says to come on down. But you’re not going to be happy.’

  The constables had taken plenty of shots from various positions. It was the same little beach of gritty sand alright, and they’d even taken a picture of the plastic bottle stuck in the wire fence. But the heap of wood ash was nowhere to be seen. It had been carefully removed, and then someone had gone over the entire area with a leafy branch or something similar and erased the footprints of whoever had done the job. The close-ups showed clearly the lack of evidence. Smith looked up from the screen.

  ‘Sorry, DC.’

  ‘No, Charlie, not your fault at all. Tell them thanks anyway.’

  ‘Fordy was one of them. He’s a good lad, you know. He had a scout around when he realized what had happened. He picked this up out of the vegetation.’

  Charlie handed over an evidence bag containing a cigarette packet.

  ‘He probably wouldn’t have bothered with it normally but it’s an odd one.’

  It was foreign, a language unrecognisable to Smith, with some characters not even of the English alphabet. He shook it inside the plastic bag, said ‘Just my luck,’ and passed it to Waters.

  ‘Charlie, forward these up to me, will you. Thank your lads again. Things are looking up, after all.’

  ‘I wondered if you might see it that way, DC.’

  Waters had been examining the packet minutely – all he needed now was a magnifying glass and a deerstalker.

  ‘How are things looking up? Somebody trashed some evidence, didn’t they?’

  Smith held out his hand for the cigarette packet.

  ‘It might or might not have been evidence. What’s more interesting is that now someone has gone to the trouble of destroying it – which probably tells us more than the heap of ash would’ve done. Someone went to a lot of trouble. I mean, it could’ve been the proverbial kids, or a pack of Labradors or even a flash flood – except that now there are no tracks at all, are there? So, in removing all signs someone has given us a clear signal. And I’ve already got some of what they tried to hide. And now we’ve got this, thanks to the uniform department.’

  He held up the packet and shook it again but it was still empty.

  ‘Fingerprints?’

  ‘Might be. Of course, we don’t have any fingers yet. I’ve a feeling that these, if there are any, won’t turn up on any database, so we will follow orders and keep costs down for now. But thanks again, Charlie. Not my usual brand, obviously. You haven’t forgotten what my usual brand is, have you?’

  ‘No, DC.’

  ‘OK, then. Onwards and upwards. Come on, Robin.’

  ‘I can’t believe it. You’ve been to university and you don’t know this language.’

  The plastic bag and its contents lay on the table between them.

  ‘I didn’t do languages but I can tell you something about it.’

  ‘Go on, then.’

  ‘The weird-looking letters are Cyrillic script.’

  ‘Just as I suspected… What’s that when it’s at home?’

  ‘I don’t know much more. It’s mainly eastern European, the Balkans, that sort of area.’

  Waters didn’t need Smith to make the possible link to the canoeist for him, and Smith, knowing that, didn’t bother. After a few seconds Waters said, ‘Could just be a bit of smuggled tobacco. Plenty of that going on, isn’t there? Anyone could have dropped it there, agricultural workers from a field nearby.’

  Smith shook his head.

  ‘Thought of that, good poi
nt. But smuggled tobacco invariably has English on it, with spelling mistakes naturally, to make it look authentic, but in English, for the English market. There’s not a word of English on here. I reckon these were originals, and well-travelled.’

  The internal phone on Smith’s desk buzzed twice and he picked it up.

  ‘Yes, we are.’

  His eyes found Waters’ and he pulled a frightened face.

  ‘Yes. I’ll come up right away, ma’am.’

  He put down the phone, picked up the evidence bag and the case folder for the case that did not officially exist yet. Then he nodded vaguely towards the rest of the office.

  ‘You might want to have a new partner in mind. Just a thought.’

  After they had both sat down, there was a moment of silence. Smith made his customary upside-down examination of the desk but there were no clues to be seen.

  ‘We’ve had a phone call from the school this morning.’

  ‘Oh dear. Would it be terribly wrong of me to blame Waters for everything?’

  ‘They loved it. A Ms Lovell spoke to me – assistant principal? I think you have a fan.’

  ‘Perhaps there’s not a lot of competition.’

  ‘She asked whether it was possible for you to attend a series of lessons they’re planning for pupils in the lower school, to catch the problems earlier.’

  The look of alarm that passed over Smith’s face was genuine. What with the various force/community interface programmes going on these days, any such horror was a real possibility.

  ‘Sadly, I had to tell her that you have too many other commitments. We have to let you reach out to as many young minds as possible, David.’

  ‘I can only concur.’

  ‘But obviously, if the need becomes more urgent, you’ll be top of the list. Well done.’

  She never smiled through it and he had to tell himself that she’d had a good teacher. He picked up the evidence bag from the desk and said. ‘Talking of other commitments, might be a development here. Charlie’s boys-’

  She stopped him with a raised hand.

  ‘Me first. Before you tell me anything new, I’d like your thoughts on this.’