“Are we sure it’s her?” Smith said, “I mean are we sure it’s the same woman they pulled out of the river yesterday?”
“Almost certain,” Whitton said, “blonde hair and blue eyes. They’re busy matching the DNA as we speak. I thought that asking the husband to identify the body would be futile.”
“Not to mention traumatic,” Smith said, “she’s not a pretty sight.”
“Why did the husband wait so long to report her missing?” Chalmers said.
“We don’t know,” Whitton said.
“Do we have an address for him?” Chalmers said.
“He lives just outside Darlington,” Whitton said, “the Darlington police weren’t exactly cooperative. I had to pretty much drag the information out of them.”
“I know,” Chalmers said, “we’ve had trouble with them in the past. They’re very territorial. Whitton, you and Smith can pay this woman’s husband a visit.”
“What about the sleazy night club?” Smith said.
“Have a snoop around there afterwards,” Chalmers said, “and keep your eyes to yourself.”
“I hate stuff like that,” Smith said, “it gives me the creeps to be honest.”
“What was it like?” Whitton said as they left York behind and headed north up the A1 to Darlington.”
“What was what like?” Smith said.
“The dead body?” Whitton said, “I’ve never seen a dead body before.”
“It was strange,” Smith overtook a truck that was driving at around thirty miles per hour, “I thought it would freak me out but I felt nothing. It was gruesome; she was all blue and bloated but all I could think about was how she got there and what happened to her.”
“I think I would have probably passed out,” Whitton said.
“You wouldn’t have,” Smith said, “you’re a lot tougher than you think.”
They drove in silence for a while. The grey January half light whizzed past as they drove.
“Do you like this job?” Whitton asked when they were five miles from Darlington.
“I love it,” Smith said, “I’ve only been on the force for two years or so but, already, I can’t imagine doing anything else. What about you?”
“I don’t know,” Whitton said, “I told myself I’d give it a year and see how I felt after that. It’s been eighteen months now and I’m still here.”
She opened up a map.
“You need to turn left here,” she said, “and then it’s the first right.”
Smith parked his car outside Robert and Janet Swain’s house. It was starting to get dark and the way the clouds were closing in meant that rain was on the way.
“It’s going to chuck it down in a minute,” Whitton got out of the car.
Smith looked up at the sky and nodded.
They walked up the driveway to the house. The garden seemed to be well maintained. Even though it was the middle of winter, the dead shrubs had been tidied up so neatly it was bordering on obsessive. Smith knocked on the door. It was opened a few seconds later by a strange looking man with thinning black hair. For a moment, Smith thought they had got the wrong address.
“Robert Swain?” He said.
“That’s right,” the man said, “you must be from the police. I’ve just got off the phone with one of your colleagues. The DNA tests have confirmed the worst. You’d better come in.”
Smith was confused. The man standing before him had to be at least fifty years old. He had an unusually large nose and the trifocal spectacles that rested on this beak gave him the appearance of a bush baby.
“Follow me,” Swain led them through to a sitting room that also seemed to serve as a library.
Volumes of what appeared to be reference books lined one of the walls from floor to ceiling.
“Take a seat,” he pointed to a pair of green leather arm chairs, “would you like something to drink?”
“No thanks,” Smith sat down.
The appearance of this odd looking man had put him at a loss for words.
“I know what you must be thinking,” Swain said, “what on earth is a woman like Janet doing with a fossil like me? I couldn’t believe it either when she agreed to marry me.”
“Sorry Mr Swain,” Smith said, “this is an impressive collection of books you have here.”
“The history of the world on one six by three shelf,” Swain said, “albeit History as someone else perceived it. Anyway, I’m sorry, I’m a bit on edge at the moment. It’s not every day you find out your wife has been killed. Are you sure you won’t have something to drink?”
He walked over to the window and looked outside. The sun had gone down and the rain was starting to fall.
“Do you mind if I have one?” He opened an expensive looking decanter and poured a large measure into a crystal glass without waiting for an answer.
“Two years,” Swain took a long drink from the glass, “we’ve been married for two years.”
“How did you meet your wife?” Whitton said.
“You mean how did an old prune like me hook up with a beautiful woman like Janet?” Swain said.
“No,” Whitton said, “I just meant…”
“I’m sorry my dear,” Swain said, “I’m just teasing you. This was my whole life before Janet came along.”
He pointed to the bookshelf behind him.
“And I suppose I’ll revert back to it now she’s gone. I met Janet at the University in Middlesbrough. I lecture in History there. Janet was a late starter; she only decided she wanted to study when she was twenty two years old. She was quite brilliant. Eager to learn.”
“Why did you wait so long to report her missing?” Smith said.
“Detective,” Swain stood up and poured himself another glass from the decanter, “Janet moved out six months ago.”
“I don’t understand,” Smith said.
“It was bound to happen,” Swain sat down again, “who was I trying to kid? I’m twice her age and some. What did I think was going to happen? Did I think we’d live happily ever after?”
He appeared lost in thought for a moment.
“No,” he said eventually, “It was destined to happen.”
“When did you last see your wife?” Whitton said.
“Bonfire night,” Swain said without thinking, “bonfire night two thousand and five will be my final memory of her.”
“And you’ve had no contact with her since then?” Smith said.
“Oh, we’ve been in contact,” Swain said, “phone calls, e mails. That’s why I phoned the police and reported her missing. She stopped answering her phone and replying to my e mails.”
“And you thought that was strange?” Whitton said.
“My dear,” Swain smiled at her, “I’m a Historian; I was born with an unfortunate intuition. It’s a curse at times but I knew straight away that something wasn’t right.”
“Mr Swain,” Smith said, “you said that Janet moved out six months ago. Where did she go?”
“That I don’t know,” Swain said, “she’d started to hang around with some less than savoury types if you know what I mean. That’s how she ended up working at the night club. I mean, The Titz, it doesn’t exactly hide what it is does it? Do you know, I even considered going there once or twice? Just so I could see her again. I chickened out at the last minute. I hope you catch them.”
“Catch who?” Smith said.
“The bastards who did this,” Swain was beginning to slur his words.
“Thank you for your time Mr Swain,” Smith stood up, “come on Whitton.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Poor guy,” Whitton said as they drove away from Robert Swain’s house, “he seemed really lonely.”
“He’s a dirty old History professor,” Smith said, “and I think he knows a lot more than he’s letting on.”
“You don’t trust anybody do you?”
“It’s my job not to trust anybody,” Smith said, “what’s the address of this meat market?”
&nb
sp; “What?”
“The strip club,” Smith said.
“It’s in the centre of town,” Whitton said, “just down from the old town hall.”
The rain was pelting down as they drove. Smith’s windscreen wipers were finding it hard to keep up. He drove past the old town hall and parked on double yellow lines outside the night club.
“The Titz,” Smith said, “I wonder which genius came up with that name.”
“I think it has some kind of poetic irony to it,” Whitton said.
“You’re not quite right in the head Whitton,” Smith said, “and your pseudo intellectualism isn’t going to do you any favours in this job.”
“Thanks for the concern.”
A light was on inside the club when Smith and Whitton got out of the car. The rain was coming down in buckets now. They were both drenched before they had covered the five metres to the entrance. Smith banged on the large black door. It was opened and a huge man with a bull neck glared at them. He was almost as wide as he was tall.
“We’re not open yet,” he said in a strange accent.
He slammed the door.
Smith banged on the door again.
Bull neck opened it.
“Come back at ten,” he said.
Smith took out his ID and shoved it in front of the man’s face.
“That thing don’t get you no special treatment in here,” Bull neck said, “we don’t do private shows for the police.”
“I want to speak to the owner here,” Smith said.
“He’s busy.”
Smith was starting to get annoyed.
“Listen,” he said, “we can have a quiet chat now or we can come back when you’re open. We’ll come back with sirens blazing. That wouldn’t be too good for business would it?”
Bull neck opened the door wide.
“I’m just doing my job,” he said, “Bill’s busy with stock take at the bar.”
“You can be quite scary when you want to be,” Whitton said as they walked through the semi darkness towards the bar.
“I was shaking inside,” Smith said, “did you see the size of that ape? I bet he’d be impossible to knock down.”
A man with a high forehead and a thin black ponytail was leafing through some papers at the small bar as Smith and Whitton approached. A half naked woman was going through the motions on a pole next to it. She looked extremely bored.
“No peeking,” Whitton said.
“This is not my kind of thing,” Smith said, “give me a blues club any day.”
The man with the ponytail looked Smith and Whitton up and down as they approached.
“Good evening officers,” he said, “bar’s closed. Come back at ten.”
“We’re not thirsty,” Smith said, “how did you know we were from the police?”
“Thirty years in the club business,” he said, “you develop a nose for that kind of thing. Billy Strauss. What can I do for you? I run a legit business here.”
“I’m sure you do,” Smith said, “we’re here to talk to you about one of your strippers.”
“Alternative dancers,” Strauss said, “these girls are artists. The term stripper sounds so crude.”
“Ok,” Smith said, “Janet Swain.”
“What about her?” Strauss said, “I haven’t seen or heard of Janet since before New Year. I think that professor of hers finally got his way.”
“What do you mean?” Smith said.
“He’s been nagging at her to quit since she joined us here.”
“She’s dead,” Whitton said.
Strauss did not seem the least bit affected by this information.
“Like I said officers,” he said, “Janet was here a few days before New Year and I haven’t seen her since.”
“Are you sure?” Smith said.
“Of course I’m sure,” Strauss said, “I was a bit pissed off if you really want to know. She left us in the lurch on New Year’s Eve. She did herself no favours either; the tips the girls can earn at New Year are nothing to be sniffed at.”
“Did you know Janet well?” Whitton said.
“She danced here,” Strauss said, “that was as far as it went. I was her employer. I don’t know what you’re thinking but this is an honest business. I offer a service, my girls are paid well and they don’t do anything they don’t want to do. The clientele here are respectable people. They come here to unwind, have a few drinks and watch the girls. Some of our regulars are high profile businessmen. We have politicians, football players, not to mention a few high ranking police officers. Like I say, I offer a discreet service and people are prepared to pay for it. If there’s nothing else, I have work to do.”
“Mr Strauss,” Smith said, “a young woman was pulled out of the River Ouse yesterday. That woman worked for you. I don’t give a damn what you call it, this is a strip joint. We’re not leaving until we get some answers. I’ll speak to everyone here if I have to.”
“Very well,” Strauss sighed, “Jussi.”
The doorman with the bull neck appeared from nowhere. Smith braced himself for an attack.
“This is Jussi,” Strauss said, “he’s a Sami from Northern Finland. His people are rather large. Can you believe he came here for the warm climate? He’ll escort you to the dressing room. Sandra and Emily seemed to get on well with Janet. They should give you the information you’re after. I’ve got nothing to hide here.”
CHAPTER FIVE
The giant Finn led Smith and Whitton past the stage and down a short corridor. It was so dark that Smith had to touch the wall to avoid crashing into something.
“In there,” Jussi stopped outside a door, “I’d let the woman go in first. The girls get upset when strange men start hanging around the dressing room.”
He lumbered back down the corridor.
Whitton knocked on the door. It was opened a few seconds later by a woman with short red hair. She was naked from the waist up. She had her arms crossed to hide her breasts.
“What do you want?” She said.
“We’re looking for Sandra or Emily,” Whitton said
“I’m Sandra,” the woman said, “Emily’s not in yet. Who are you?”
“Police,” Whitton said, “can we have a word?”
“Just a minute,” Sandra said, “let me put some bloody clothes on first.”
She closed the door behind her.
The door was opened a minute later. Sandra was wearing a black checkered shirt and a pair of black leggings.
“You’d better come in,” she said.
Whitton and Smith went inside. The smell in the dressing room was unbearable. It was a combination of deodorant, hair spray, cheap perfume and a peppery smell that Smith knew to be marijuana.
“What’s this all about?” Sandra said.
“It’s about Janet Swain,” Smith said, “I believe you and Janet were friends?”
“I wouldn’t say that,” Sandra said, “we worked together that’s all. She’s one of the nicer girls. Way too nice to be working in a dive like this anyway.”
“What do you mean by that?” Whitton said.
“Janet’s a bit green,” Sandra started to apply mascara to her eyelashes, “that’s what I like about her; she’s so innocent. Some of the girls here are real bitches. What’s she done?”
“She’s dead,” Smith decided to come to the point.
“Dead?” Sandra dropped the mascara brush on the dressing table in front of her.
“I’m afraid so,” Smith said, “they found her body in the River Ouse yesterday. It looks like she was murdered.”
“No,” Sandra said, “there must be some kind of mistake.”
“I’m afraid not,” Whitton said, “Janet Swain is dead.”
“Do you know where she’d been living the past few months?” Smith said.
“With some guy,” Sandra said, “a real loser. Billy had to kick him out of here a few times.”
“Why’s that?” Smith said.
“Posses
sive type,” Sandra said, “couldn’t bear to see his girlfriend parading around half naked in front of all those men.”
“Do you have a name?” Smith said.
“Sid something or other,” Sandra said, “Sid Thatcher. Like the old Prime Minister. Sid Thatcher.”
“Where can we find this Thatcher character?” Smith said.
“Stick around for a while,” Sandra said, “he’ll be here later. You can bank on that. He’s a regular here although he’s on his last warning. I don’t know how Billy has put up with his nonsense for so long.”
“Can I buy you a drink?” Smith asked Whitton.
Sid Thatcher walked in at exactly ten o clock. Billy Strauss nodded to Smith as he approached the bar. Smith immediately took a dislike to him. He was a short, stocky man with a goatee beard. He had trouble written all over his face. He put two hands on the bar. Smith stood up.
“Sid Thatcher?” He said.
Thatcher looked Smith up and down and ran off towards the exit.
“Damn it,” Smith said, “I hate it when they do that.”
He chased after Thatcher. He barged through a man and a woman standing by the stage and almost knocked them to the ground. He ran into a table and felt a sharp pain in his backside. Thatcher was nowhere to be seen. Smith ran towards the exit but there were now too many people blocking his way. The pain in his backside was unbearable. He limped back to where Whitton was standing by the bar.
“I lost him,” Smith said, “he got away and I think I might have broken my arse.”
Whitton started to laugh.
“You can’t break your arse,” she said.
“It hurts like hell anyway,” Smith said.
“Looking for this?” Jussi, the gigantic Finn was standing behind them.
Smith turned round. Jussi was holding Sid Thatcher by the back of his jacket. Thatcher did not look too pleased.
“Get this thug off me,” he said, “I haven’t done anything. I’ve just walked in the door.”
“Why did you run?” Smith said.
“I don’t know,” Thatcher said, “I thought you were one of them.”
The Girl in the River Page 2