Smith got some coffee out of the machine and sat down.
“I don’t mean to put a dampener on things,” he said, “but isn’t this a bit too convenient?”
“What do you mean?” Bridge said, “I found the murder weapon. Janet Swain’s blood was all over it.”
“I’m not denying it’s the murder weapon,” Smith said, “what I find suspicious is you found it on the back seat of Thatcher’s car. Think about it Bridge. Am I the only one who thinks that’s a bit strange?”
“What are you getting at?” Chalmers said.
“If Thatcher is the killer,” Smith said.
“He is,” Bridge said.
“Just hear me out. Let’s say that Thatcher killed his girlfriend. He managed to do it without being seen. Then he managed to dump her body in the river, also without being seen. That takes some serious planning or some really good luck. All I’m trying to say here is why leave the murder weapon on the back seat of the car where anybody could find it? He was Janet Swain’s boyfriend. If he killed her, he must have known we’d come snooping round sooner or later. Why didn’t he just throw the crowbar in the river with her?”
“Damn it Smith,” Chalmers said, “why do you have to always play such a good devil’s advocate?”
Bridge glared at Smith.
Chalmers’ phone started to ring.
“Ok,” he answered it, “we’re on our way.”
He rang off.
“Thatcher’s solicitor is here,” he said, “Smith, let’s go and find out what he has to say for himself.”
“What about me?” Bridge said, “I was the one who found the crowbar.”
“That was good work,” Chalmers said, “but Smith has a lot more experience in this sort of thing. Besides, Thatcher and Smith are starting to become good friends.”
CHAPTER NINE
Sid Thatcher was sitting in interview room three. A stern looking woman was sitting next to him. Her hair was tied up in a tight bun and she looked extremely bored. It was as if she had much more important things to do than defend a man accused of murder. Smith and Chalmers sat down opposite them.
“Good morning,” Chalmers said, “I’m DS Chalmers and this is DC Smith.”
“Valerie Eccleston,” the woman said, “legal aid. I’ve spoken to my client at length and he claims he is innocent of all charges and thus I’ve advised him to answer your questions truthfully and to cooperate with you fully. We intend to bring this matter to a swift conclusion. I’ll repeat the fact that my client claims he is innocent.”
“They all do don’t they?” Chalmers said.
Smith felt a cold shiver rush through his whole body. He realized that if he had not joined the police it could be him sitting next to Thatcher. He could be the one defending the low lifes of society.
“Let’s get started shall we?” Chalmers switched on the recording device, “Interview with Sid Thatcher commenced eleven forty five. Present, DS Chalmers, DC Smith and…”
He glanced across at Valerie Eccleston.
“Valerie Eccleston,” she said, “Miss.”
“Miss Valerie Eccleston,” Chalmers said, “Sid Thatcher’s counsel. How are you feeling Sid?”
Thatcher cast him a surprised glance.
“How am I feeling?” He said, “How the hell do you think I’m feeling? I’ve just found out that I’ve been charged with the murder of a woman I haven’t seen in weeks. I get arrested in front of my mother. I’m feeling pretty shitty if you really want to know.”
“Ok Mr Thatcher,” Eccleston said, “calm down. Just answer the questions honestly and to the point.”
“Sid,” Chalmers said, “why do you keep a crowbar in the back seat of your car?”
“For protection,” Thatcher said, “I’m allowed to protect myself aren’t I?”
“To a certain degree,” Chalmers said, “what makes you think you need protection?”
“I told you before,” Thatcher said, “I’ve been threatened. People are after me.”
“You know we found traces of Janet Swain’s blood on the crowbar don’t you?” Smith said, “How do you explain that?”
“I don’t know,” Thatcher said, “I don’t know how it got there.”
“When did you last see Janet Swain?” Chalmers said.
“I’ve told you,” Thatcher said, “Christmas Eve. We had a fight and she left. I haven’t seen her since.”
“You told us you fought about Janet’s husband?” Chalmers said, “She was considering going back to him. That must have made you angry. What happened? Did you just lose it and bash her head in with the crowbar?”
“Detective sergeant,” Eccleston said, “these bullying tactics are out of order.”
“I’m trying to establish the facts Mrs Eccleston,” Chalmers said.
“Miss,” Eccleston said.
“Miss,” Chalmers said, “you of all people must realize how serious this looks. Your client has a fight with his girlfriend; he’s had a few drinks and his girlfriend is found dead a few weeks later. The murder weapon is found in the back of his car.”
“Sir,” Smith said, “can I have a word?”
“Interview paused,” Chalmers stopped the machine, “eleven fifty eight.”
“What is it?” Chalmers said outside the interview room.
“Janet Swain was last seen at the strip club on the morning of the twenty eighth,” Smith said.
“What’s your point?”
“Thatcher claims he last saw her on Christmas Eve,” Smith said, “do you really think he waited four days to kill her? We also know that she didn’t go back to her husband. He hasn’t seen her since bonfire night. The whole thing doesn’t add up. Where was Janet Swain in the four days between fighting with Thatcher and getting her head smashed in?”
“Let’s go and find out shall we.”
“Interview recommenced twelve fifteen,” Chalmers switched the machine back on, “Sid, how did you meet Janet Swain?”
“I saw her one night at Titz,” Thatcher said.
“The strip joint?” Chalmers said.
“That’s right,” Thatcher said, “she was gorgeous. I couldn’t keep my eyes off her. After she was finished I spotted her at the bar and we got talking. She was different to most women.”
“How so?” Chalmers said.
“She was beautiful but she was also smart. I asked her what she was doing in a dive like Titz and she said she enjoyed it. She didn’t need the money; her husband was loaded, she just wanted to do something to make her feel alive.”
“So you knew she was married?” Smith said.
“Of course,” Thatcher said, “she made no secret of it. She was bored of him. I mean, what was a woman in her twenties doing with a fossil like Swain?”
“So you started a relationship with her?” Smith said.
“I suppose you could call it that,” Thatcher seemed to ponder the meaning of the question, “we had fun. I think it was just what both of us needed.”
“And you last saw her on Christmas Eve?” Chalmers said.
“Detective,” Eccleston said, “how many times must my client go over the same old question?”
“Until we get the right answers,” Chalmers looked directly into her dead eyes.
“Did you ever meet Robert Swain?” Smith said.
“Once,” Thatcher said, “he told me to watch my back.”
“Were those his exact words?” Smith said.
“Something like that. He told me to be careful. I know a threat when I hear one. I laughed it off at the time. I mean, it was a joke; I was being threatened by an old University professor but then I started to get the feeling that I was being watched. At first I thought I was just being paranoid but then these nasty looking characters started harassing me.”
“How do you mean?” Smith said.
“That professor of hers was obviously paying these guys to rattle me.”
“An old University professor?” Chalmers said.
“You can bel
ieve me or not,” Thatcher said, “I know what I saw.”
“Ok Sid,” Chalmers said, “we’re not getting anywhere here. Interview with Sid Thatcher concluded twelve thirty five.”
“What now?” Thatcher said.
“We have more than enough to keep you here,” Chalmers said, “the weapon that killed Janet Swain was found in your car with her blood on it. Until you can explain to us how it got there I’m afraid it’ll be up to a jury to decide what happens to you.”
“They can’t keep me here can they?” Thatcher turned to Eccleston.
“I’m afraid they can,” Eccleston stood up, “I’ll try to arrange bail but I have to be honest here, it’s not looking good for you. Good afternoon gentlemen.”
She left the room.
“I didn’t do it,” Thatcher said, “I’ve been stitched up.”
“You’ll be taken to the holding cells for now Sid,” Smith said, “then you’ll probably be escorted to jail while you await trial.”
“Your solicitor was right,” Chalmers said, “unless some new evidence comes to light, it doesn’t look good.”
“I didn’t kill her,” Thatcher said, louder this time, “I’m going home.”
He stood up and ran towards the door. Chalmers was too quick. In one swift move, he grabbed Thatcher’s arm and twisted it behind his back.
“Hurts like hell doesn’t it?” Chalmers said, “why did you have to do that?”
“Let me go,” Thatcher said, “I didn’t kill her.”
“Don’t just stand there,” Chalmers said to Smith, “go and get some help.”
Smith ran out of the room.
CHAPTER TEN
“Did he really try to make a run for it?” Whitton said.
Whitton, Bridge, Smith and Thompson were sitting in the canteen.
“I wouldn’t want to mess with Chalmers,” Smith said.
“Ex boxer,” Thompson said, “he had an unbeaten record. Twenty six fights, twenty six wins. Twenty four of those were by knockout. Then GI Joe came along.”
“GI Joe?” Whitton said.
“Chalmers was in line for the record,” Thompson said, “Jimmy Coleridge’s record had stood for twenty eight years. All Chalmers had to do was win one more fight and he would’ve had his place on the police hall of fame forever. They stopped the police army fights shortly afterwards. Namby pamby bunch of softies.”
“What happened?” Bridge said.
“Drill sergeant Jack Jones happened,” Chalmers said, “nasty piece of work. Chalmers could have beaten him but he was more focused on the record than on the fight. Third round, Chalmers was way ahead on points and it happened. Thirty seconds to go and, right at the side of the ring, Chalmers’ wife yelled out ‘go Bobby’.”
“Bobby?” Bridge said.
Thompson glared at him.
“Chalmers turned to look at her,” Thompson said, “he smiled at her and out of nowhere came Jones’ famous left. The crack could be heard all around the arena. Jones broke Chalmers’ nose. The blood gushed out and the fight was stopped.”
“Who won?” Bridge said.
“Jones won you idiot,” Thompson said, “Chalmers reckoned he could’ve carried on but the ref was having none of it. Chalmers didn’t speak to his wife for weeks afterwards.”
“Well I’m glad he was there earlier,” Smith said, “Thatcher just lost it.”
“What’ll happen now?” Whitton said.
“He’s been charged with murder,” Smith said, “and that little outburst won’t have helped him. He did himself no favours there.”
“So that’s that then,” Bridge said, “I reckon we all deserve a pat on the back. Does anyone feel like going for a drink?”
“I need an early night,” Whitton said, “I’m exhausted.”
“Me too,” Thompson said, “and Mrs Thompson doesn’t appreciate it when I drink too much.”
“Smith?” Bridge said.
“I don’t see any reason to celebrate,” Smith stood up and walked out of the canteen.
Smith opened the door to his house and went inside. The silence in the house was depressing. He wished his Gran was still alive so he could talk to her about what had happened in the past few days. He stared at the old Fender Stratocaster in the corner of the room but he did not feel like playing. This house is too quiet, he thought, I need someone to fill the space.
He had been far too preoccupied with work over the past two years that the thought of a relationship had never entered his head.
I’ll get a dog one day, he thought.
Smith went upstairs and turned on the shower. He undressed and stood under the warm jets of water. For a moment, he forgot all about the woman in the river; all he could think about was the water pounding on his head. He got out and dried himself. He got dressed and looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was only seven in the evening. He felt like a drink.
The Hog’s head was very quiet when Smith walked in. An old man was nursing half a pint of ale while reading his newspaper; a young couple were gazing into each other’s eyes. Besides them, the place was empty. Smith walked up to the bar.
“Hello again,” the old woman behind the bar said, “are you on your own tonight or are you waiting for someone?”
“No,” Smith said, “I’m on my own.”
“Then you must have your reasons,” the woman said, “pint of Theakstons?”
Smith was amazed. He had only been there once before.
“That would be great,” he said, “its Madge isn’t it?”
“Close,” she said, “its Marge.”
“Jason Smith,” Smith said, “it’s a pleasure to meet you Marge.”
He put out his hand and Marge shook it. She poured the beer and put it on the counter in front of Smith.
“Rough day?” She said.
“Something like that,” Smith took a long sip of the beer.
“I don’t tend to pry,” Marge said, “but if you feel like talking, I’m not exactly run off my feet.”
“Thanks Marge,” Smith said, “I’ll bear that in mind.”
He finished the rest of the beer in the glass.
“You’re thirsty,” Marge poured another one without asking Smith if he wanted another one, “can I give you a bit of advice? Take it how you will.”
Smith took a sip of beer and nodded.
“You’re young,” Marge said, “and I can see that something’s bothering you. I’ve had this place for thirty years. I’ve seen plenty of policemen over that time. Some of them are regulars. Do yourself a favour dear; leave your work at work if you know what I mean.”
“I think I do,” Smith said.
“I’ve seen young men like you get consumed,” Marge said, “it happens all too often.”
“I don’t think that’ll ever happen to me Marge,” Smith said, “I’ll leave my work at work. Thanks for the advice.”
CHAPTER ELEVEN
Wednesday 16 March 2006
“That’s it then,” Chalmers said.
He had just got off the phone with Bridge. Bridge had insisted on being at the court for the verdict and sentencing in the Janet Swain murder investigation.
“Thatcher got twelve years,” Chalmers said.
Smith and Whitton were sitting opposite Chalmers in his office.
“I know it’s only just turned lunchtime,” Chalmers said, “but this calls for a drink.”
He opened a drawer and took out a silver hip flask. He took a long swig and handed the flask to Smith.
“No thanks Sarge,” Smith stood up and left the room.
“What’s wrong with him?” Chalmers said to Whitton, “Drink?”
Whitton put the flask to her lips, took a small sip and winced.
Smith parked outside Robert Swain’s house in Darlington and switched off the engine. He got out of the car. There were no clouds in the sky and Spring was definitely on the way. He was not sure what he was doing at Swain’s house and he did not really know what he was going to say.
He walked up the path to the house. The dead shrubs had gone. They had been replaced by crocus bulbs and daffodils were starting to sprout. Smith knocked on the door and waited. Swain answered almost immediately. Smith could smell the alcohol on his breath straight away.
“Detective,” Swain said, “isn’t it a beautiful day? To what do I owe the pleasure?”
“Can I come in?” Smith said.
“Of course,” Swain said, “you know the way by now.
Smith walked through to the sitting room.
“Take a seat,” Swain said, “would you like a drink?”
He pointed to the decanter on the table. A half full glass was standing next to it.
“I know it’s rather early,” Swain said, “but today’s a particularly special day wouldn’t you say?”
“Thatcher got twelve years,” Smith said.
“I know,” Swain sat down with his whisky, “it’s kind of my business to know isn’t it? Janet was my wife after all.”
Smith sat down opposite him and shook his head. Swain finished his drink and put it down on a small table next to him.
“You knew all along didn’t you?” He said.
“I had my suspicions,” Smith said, “how did you do it?”
“Detective,” Swain stood up and poured himself a healthy measure of whisky, “you do realize that anything I tell you will remain in this ghastly room forever don’t you?”
He sat back down.
“Of course you do,” Swain smiled, “that’s why you’re here by yourself. Justice has been served.”
“Justice has not been served,” Smith was finding it hard to control his anger.
“There’s justice and there’s justice,” Swain sighed.
“Why?” Smith said, “Why did you do it?”
“All in good time detective,” Swain said, “I’ll tell you a story. From the very beginning. Janet was a beautiful woman. When she appeared to fall in love with me I thought I was in a dream. It wasn’t real; it was as if I were living someone else’s life. Do you have someone special in your life at the moment?”
“No,” Smith said.
“Then you won’t understand,” Swain said, “I would have done anything for Janet. I even indulged her in this crazy notion that she could become a professional dancer. I should have known what would happen but my head wasn’t my own at the time. Are you sure you won’t have that drink.”
The Girl in the River Page 4