“You can stay,” Webber said, “but leave me in peace to do my job. I like to work in silence.”
“My lips are sealed,” Smith said.
“By the way,” Webber said, “we checked out the cigarette butt we found at the house across the road from the football ground.”
“And?” Smith said.
“Steels,” Webber said, “nobody sells them in England. They’re only sold in a few places. Latvia, Finland and Estonia.”
“Estonia?” Smith said.
“Former Soviet Union,” Webber said.
“I know where Estonia is,” Smith said.
A forensics technician Smith had not seen before walked in. He was whistling a song that seemed vaguely familiar; it was some country and western song. Webber looked at him and burst out laughing. Smith and Whitton looked on in disbelief.
“Forensics humour?” Smith asked.
“My friend Brian here has a rather warped sense of humour,” Webber said.
He looked at Brian.
“Tell him what you were whistling.”
“A good old Kenny Rogers number,” Brian said, “Lucille, or in this case Loose Wheel.”
He looked at Whitton, smiled and started to sing.
“You picked a fine time to leave me loose wheel.”
Whitton started to laugh. Even Smith found it hard not to smile.
“Can we get on with it?” Smith said, “This is important.”
Smith and Whitton stood back and watched Brian and Webber as they went through the motions. The wheel that had come off Smith’s car was lying next to the car on a plastic table. Webber opened up his case and took out his fingerprint equipment. He covered the whole wheel in powder. He did a thorough job and when he was finished there was not one part of the wheel that he had not checked.
“Nothing there,” he said, “although I didn’t expect there to be.”
Smith was disappointed. He did not know what to expect to find out but he was hoping Webber would be able to shed some light on the whole thing.
“This is interesting,” Brian said.
“What have you found?” Webber asked.
“How fast were you going when the wheel came off?” Brian asked Smith.
“No more than thirty,” Smith said, “when I realised there was something wrong I slowed right down.”
“Two of the wheel studs are gone,” Brian said, “a car travelling at high speed when a wheel came off would probably lose all the wheel studs but at thirty miles per hour the wheel wouldn’t snap them off like this.”
He took out a magnifying glass and had a closer look.
“Bingo,” he said, “the way the studs have sheared off is exactly the same on both of them. The odds of that happening are out of this world.”
“What does that mean?” Smith asked.
“It means that somebody doesn’t like you Smith,” Webber said, “It means that somebody wanted the wheel to come off.”
He took a look at the wheel studs.
“They’ve been sheared off with what looks like pincers,” he said, “loosening the nuts wasn’t good enough, whoever did this wanted to make absolutely sure.”
“Did you find the nuts?” Whitton asked.
“We found two of them,” Webber said, “with only two wheel studs remaining I would assume that whoever did this took the other two nuts with them.”
He pointed to a plastic bag on the table. In it were two wheel nuts.
“Let’s see if we can get anything from these shall we?” he carefully removed one of the nuts.
He covered the nut in powder.
“When was the last time you changed your tyres?” he asked Smith.
“A few months ago,” Smith said.
“And you haven’t touched the wheel since?”
“Of course not. Why would I?”
“Look at this,” Webber pointed to the nut.
Even to the untrained eye, the fingerprint was clearly visible.
“Fingerprint?” Whitton said.
“I’d say it’s a thumb print,” Webber said, “Let’s get it checked out shall we?”
He took out a small camera and took a couple of photographs of the nut. Then Brian handed him a strip of rubber tape which Webber carefully pressed against the wheel nut. Finally, he pressed some clear tape over the fingerprint on the rubber tape and put it in an evidence bag.
“It’s a real beauty,” Brian said, “I can see that without even looking at it on the computer.”
“Can you do me a favour?” Smith asked Webber.
“What now?” Webber said.
“Can you check it against the prints you found on the sniper rifle?”
Webber’s facial expression changed completely. He looked like he had been hit in the face. Smith suddenly understood what he had said.
“Brian,” Webber said, “we’re done here, can you take this and process it?”
He handed Brian the evidence bag with the fingerprint in it.
“Brian’s not stupid,” Webber said when Brian had gone, “he’s going to wonder what you were on about when you mentioned a sniper rifle. Nobody is supposed to know about the Dragunov. Do you want to get me into trouble?”
“I didn’t think,” Smith said.
“How do you think it will look if it suddenly gets out that someone in forensics is talking about a sniper rifle?” Webber was not giving up, “They’ll think its come from me.”
“Sorry Webber,” Smith said, “can you still compare the prints though?”
“No,” Webber said, “that information is strictly off limits if you know what I mean.”
“No I don’t know what you mean.”
“It is not at your disposal,” Webber said, “is that clear enough for you?”
“Somebody tried to kill me today,” Smith could feel his heart starting to beat faster, “all I want to know if it’s the same lunatic that killed two football players with a Dragunov sniper rifle. You still have the prints from the rifle don’t you?”
“I can’t,” Webber said, “I happen to like my job and I would like to keep it if that’s alright with you.”
“Don’t be so dramatic Webber,” Smith said, “please, it’s not like I’m going to be able to do anything about it anyway. The prints from the Dragunov are not on any of our records. I just need to know for a bit of peace of mind.”
Webber walked over to the table and started to pack away his equipment.
“Why do you always do this to me?” He looked at Smith.
“Thanks Webber,” Smith said, “let me know as soon as you know anything.”
THIRTEEN
“What now?” Whitton asked as they drove away from the forensics building.
“I’ve been told to take some time off,” Smith said, “my head feels like the morning after a bottle of Jack and my neck is as stiff as hell. Could you drop me off at home?”
Whitton looked at Smith as if he had grown another head.
“What?” Smith said.
“Are you seriously telling me you’re going to go home and rest?”
“Of course,” Smith said, “why’s that so hard to believe?”
“I know you sir,” Whitton said, “you can’t just stay at home and do nothing. It’s not like you.”
“I must be getting old,” Smith said.
Whitton parked the car outside Smith’s house and turned off the engine.
“Do you need anything?” she said.
“I’ll be fine,” Smith said, “you’d better get back to work. I’m sure there’s some mind blowing case you could be working on.”
“Nothing’s happening,” Whitton said, “this weather seems to have put everybody in such a good mood that they’ve forgotten about committing crime.”
“Something will turn up,” Smith said, “This is York. Something always turns up. I’m off to do a bit of research.”
“I knew it,” Whitton said, “you can’t just lie back and take it easy can you?”
�
�Thanks for the lift,” Smith got out of the car, “I’ll see you when I see you.”
He walked up the path to his house.
“Just let me know if you need anything,” Whitton said but Smith had already gone inside.
Theakston had a strange expression on his face when Smith met him in the hallway. It was as if the bull terrier knew that something was wrong. He did not jump up at Smith like he usually did; he merely sat at Smith’s feet and stared up at him with what could only be described as sympathy in his eyes.
“Hey boy,” Smith patted the dog on the head, “are you hungry?”
He walked through to the kitchen and put some food in the dog bowl. Theakston looked up at him and started to eat. Smith took some painkillers out of the kitchen cupboard and swallowed them with a glass of water. He walked back down the hallway to the living room. Theakston followed him. He had not even finished his food yet. Smith was confused.
“Go and finish your food,” he said.
Theakston never left any food in his bowl. Smith went back to the kitchen and waited for the dog to finish his food.
“You’re not going to let me out of your sight are you?” he said.
While Theakston was busy eating, Smith made some coffee. He took a small sip and waited for the pain in his tooth to hit him. The pain did not materialise; the accident had not done any damage.
When Theakston had finished eating, Smith picked up his coffee and took it to the living room. The dog followed him. Smith sat down at the small desk in the corner of the room and switched on his computer. He had bought it two months earlier after being sick of the constant interruptions at work. He could now do research in peace. Theakston lay at his feet and fell asleep almost immediately. Smith waited for the computer to boot up. The only sound in the house was Theakston’s deep breathing. Smith did not know where to start. He did not really know what he was looking for. He took a sip of coffee and typed in ‘Jimmy Fisher’ in the search bar. The page that came up showed tributes and news reports about the shooting. He quickly scanned through the news articles. Not one of them mentioned anything about a sniper rifle or a reason for the murder. One of the articles speculated that a rival fan had shot Fisher on the spur of the moment but it stated that there was no conclusive evidence to support this theory and no rival fan had been questioned. Smith sighed. He typed in ‘Carlos Rubio’ and he saw more of the same on the screen. He opened up a news report from the York Post. Smith could not believe what he was reading. There was nothing that even hinted the two killings were connected. The York Post mainly concentrated on the fact that Rubio was from Colombia and it was obviously drug related. He closed the page and typed in ‘Sarah Proud’. There were plenty of people called Sarah Proud but none of them were the person he was looking for.
Smith rubbed his eyes. His headache had gone but he now felt exhausted. He stood up carefully so as not to wake Theakston and walked to the kitchen to make some more coffee. He noticed that the light was flashing on his phone on the kitchen table. He switched the kettle on and picked up the phone. He had received two messages. The first one was from Grant Webber. Smith’s heart quickened when he read the message. Webber came straight to the point.
‘Fingerprints match,’ the message read, ‘delete this as soon as you’ve read it.’
Smith read the message again and deleted it as Webber had asked.
“I knew it,” he said out loud.
The same person who had shot Jimmy Fisher had tried to sabotage his car. He made the coffee and was about to go back to the living room when he remembered the other message. He looked at the screen on the phone. The message was from an unknown number.
‘Jason Smith,’ it began, ‘stay out of matters that don’t concern you. Remember Talinn? Regards, an old friend.’
Smith’s hands started to shake. He had to put the coffee mug down on the table, he was shaking so much. He sat down at the kitchen table and took a deep breath. Remember Talinn, he thought. Of course he could remember Talinn. He would never be able to forget it. An old school acquaintance, David White had helped him to track down his sister. Smith had found her in Talinn. It had ended in the death of a friendly flight attendant who had helped him and it had almost cost Smith his own life. He had not heard anything from his sister since.
Smith took a sip of coffee. He read the message again. Who is this old friend? He thought. Hardly anybody knew about what happened in Talinn. He had told Whitton about it but he trusted her more than anyone else in the world. He went back to the living room and sat in front of the computer. Theakston was still snoring on the carpet. Smith saw he had a new message alert. It was a Facebook alert. That was when it hit him. He took the card out of his pocket and dialled Sarah Proud’s number.
FOURTEEN
It was starting to get dark when Sarah Proud knocked on Smith’s door. Smith was beyond exhausted now. He knew he should have waited until the next morning but he had to say what was on his mind while his thoughts were still fresh. He opened the door and was surprised at what he saw. Sarah Proud looked nothing like she had done earlier in the day. The formal suit had been replaced by jeans and a white T shirt. The word ‘Sprint’ was written in pink italics on the front of the T shirt. It was her face that surprised him the most. Her hair was no longer tied up in a tight pony tail and dark wisps hung over her face accentuating her high cheekbones. Her eyes seemed less intense now and her small pointed nose and fine chin gave her an almost elfin appearance.
“Can I come in?” she asked, “or are you going to stand there staring all night?”
“Sorry,” Smith said, “of course. Come in.”
Theakston walked towards her and wagged his tail. He sniffed her feet and walked back to the living room. Smith was amazed; he had never seen such indifference in his dog before.
“Come through,” Smith walked to the kitchen.
Sarah Proud closed the door behind her.
“Would you like something to drink?” Smith asked.
“Yes,” she said, “as a matter of fact, I’d love one.”
“I have beer or whisky,” Smith said.
“Whatever you’re having is fine,” she said.
Smith still could not believe the change in the woman. She was nothing like the ogre he had met that morning. He took out two beers from the fridge and handed one to Proud.
“Do you want a glass?” he asked.
“Why would I want a glass?” she took a long sip from the bottle.
Smith knew that one beer would probably knock him for a six the way he felt at the moment but he took a sip anyway.
“You realise you’re completely defenceless now,” Proud said as they sat down.
“What do you mean?” Smith was confused.
“Don’t you watch the movies? When you invite a vampire into your house all your defences are lost.”
Smith did not know what to say.
“I’m kidding around,” she said.
“Sorry,” Smith said, “it’s been a hell of a day. My sense of humour was lost somewhere between being told I’m not allowed to do my job and finding out that someone tried to kill me.”
“That seems to happen to you rather a lot doesn’t it?”
“What does?” Smith said.
“The people trying to kill you part,” she said.
“That’s what I need to talk to you about,” Smith finished his beer, stood up and took two more from the fridge.
The first one was starting to make his head spin but he felt like getting drunk. He handed Proud a beer.
“Thanks,” she said, “I’m intrigued. What’s on your mind?”
“Off the record?” Smith said.
Proud looked at her watch.
“Off the record then,” she said, “but you know I can’t tell you too much.”
“Someone once tried to kill me in Talinn,” Smith said.
Proud’s whole facial expression changed. She looked stunned.
“Outside a bar in the city centre,” Smit
h continued, “I had a gun pointed at my head. I thought I was going to die. All alone in a cold city. Nobody even knew I was there.”
“I didn’t know,” Proud said.
“That part isn’t on my record,” Smith said, “That’s why you don’t know about it.”
He realised he was starting to slur his words.
“I know what’s going on here,” he said, “I figured it out.”
“What have you figured out detective?” Sarah Proud seemed to be on her guard.
“I had a voicemail left on my phone with a warning,” Smith said, “and I received a message too. It said, remember Talinn? And he signed it an old friend. Come on, it doesn’t take a genius to work it all out. Russian sniper rifles, all this cloak and dagger bollocks. It’s him isn’t it?”
Sarah Proud looked around the room as if she were expecting someone to burst in at any moment.
“They’re not from Russia are they?” Smith said.
“Who are you talking about? You’re not making any sense.”
Smith remembered what Webber had said about the unusual cigarettes found at the house across the road from Bootham Crescent.
“I might have a concussion,” Smith said, “but I’m not stupid. These people are from Estonia aren’t they?”
Proud looked gobsmacked.
“Former Soviet Union,” Smith said, “until ninety one. I know the history very well.”
He was starting to wake up now.
“Friendly people the Estonians,” he said, “most of them are anyway.”
“You’re babbling on now,” Proud said, “I think you should stop there.”
“I haven’t finished yet,” Smith finished the rest of his beer, “two football players are gunned down. I haven’t figured out why yet but I know exactly who did it.”
Sarah Proud finished her second beer in one go.
“Go on,” she said.
She seemed very nervous.
“The Rainbow of life,” Smith smiled, “the Brain of Wolfie.”
Proud looked like she had been knocked over by a bus. She did not know what to say. Smith put another beer in front of her.
“I’m sorry,” Smith said, “Wolfie is behind this isn’t he? He didn’t pull the trigger himself but he’s smack bang in the middle of all this.”
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