Occum's Razor

by Giles, Stewart

  Sarah Proud shook her head. Theakston walked in and sat at her feet. She patted him on the head.

  “Nice dog,” she said, “he obviously likes people.”

  “Not really,” Smith said, “but I can tell he likes you. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

  “You first,” Proud looked in his eyes.

  Her eyes were still very alert. The beer had obviously had little effect on her.

  “Tell me about Talinn,” she said.

  “Ok,” Smith said, “but I’m going to need something a bit stronger than beer.”

  He left the room and came back with a full bottle of Jack Daniels. He took out two glasses and poured two healthy measures.

  “Here’s to Talinn,” he handed one of the glasses to Proud.

  She took the glass and emptied it in one go.

  “My sister disappeared when I was sixteen,” Smith said, “We thought she had been attacked by a shark. Her body was never found.”

  Proud picked up the bottle of Jack Daniels and filled both their glasses.

  “I was sent to England just over a month later,” Smith said, “my mother wanted rid of me.”

  Smith realised he had told very few people about this.

  “A year or so ago,” he continued, “an old acquaintance from my days in Western Australia got hold of me and told me that my sister was still alive. We tracked her down to Talinn and I went after her.”

  Sarah Proud listened on intently. Smith wondered how his first impressions of this woman could have been so wrong. He had never found it easy to talk about his personal life but talking to Proud now it was like he had known her for years.

  “Anyway,” he said, “I found her, “I found Laura in Talinn. She handed me a message saying I should meet her outside a bar.”

  “So you met up with her again after all those years?” Proud said.

  “It wasn’t her who showed up outside the bar,” Smith finished what was left in his glass, “it was Wolfie. The man himself and a few of his robots. Wolfie pointed a gun at my head and I thought it was all over.”

  “What happened?” Proud’s accent had changed slightly. It was a subtle change but Smith could not help but notice it.

  “One of the friends I had made came to my rescue,” Smith said, “he even came up with a plan to get my sister to England via Finland but Wolfie found out about it and I had to come back alone.”

  “And here you are,” Proud said.

  She smiled for the first time. She had small pointy teeth. Maybe the vampire comment earlier had not been a joke, Smith thought.

  “And here I am,” Smith raised his glass in the air, “so what now?”

  “Why are you telling me all this?” Proud asked.

  “I have no idea,” Smith said, “I don’t even like you.”

  He regretted saying it immediately.

  “I have to go,” Proud said, “its late. I’m in no state to drive. Do you have the number of a taxi company?”

  “I didn’t mean that,” Smith said, “I meant to say I didn’t like you. At first, that is. I have shit intuition when it comes to first impressions. It’s quite a hindrance for a police detective.”

  Sarah Proud stood up.

  “Or I could just walk,” she said, “it’s a pleasant night and the hotel isn’t far.”

  “You can’t walk,” Smith said.

  He was shocked at how high pitch his voice sounded.

  “It’s not safe,” he added in a much deeper voice.

  “You wouldn’t believe what I’ve been trained to do with just my bare hands,” Proud said.

  “Please,” Smith said, “stay for a bit longer. I like talking to you.”

  He filled her glass. He realised that his hands were shaking.

  FIFTEEN

  Tuesday 10 August 2010

  When Smith woke up he was not sure where he was at first. He looked to the side and winced; his neck was in agony. He saw his Gran’s old sideboard and realised he was in the spare bedroom. He got out of bed and went to the bathroom. He looked at his face in the mirror and was surprised at how well he looked considering the day he had had yesterday. His eyes were slightly bloodshot but they were not as bad as they usually were. He went downstairs and switched on the kettle to make coffee. There was an empty Jack Daniels bottle on the kitchen table. Smith did not usually have memory blackouts but he could not remember much about the previous night. He made the coffee and heard the toilet flush upstairs. Suddenly it all came back to him. Sarah Proud had been to his house. He remembered now that she had asked him to phone for a taxi but after that was still a blur.

  Sarah Proud walked in the kitchen. Theakston followed closely behind her. Smith realised she was wearing one of his T Shirts. It was a black one with a faded picture of Jimi Hendrix on the front. He had forgotten he even still had the T Shirt. He could not help but stare at her. She had a slim build and her legs were almost as long as his.

  “Coffee,” she sat down at the kitchen table, “I need coffee.”

  She scowled at the empty bottle of jack Daniels.

  “How did you sleep?” Smith said and realised how pathetic it sounded.

  “I slept,” she said.

  “Where did you sleep?” he asked her.

  “I think I slept in the dog’s bed,” she said, “he seems to think it’s his bed anyway. He snores like crazy by the way.”

  “I know,” Smith smiled, “you must have slept in my room. Theakston always sleeps in there.”

  He made the coffee and handed her the mug.

  “Thanks,” she said, “about last night.”

  “What about last night?” Smith said, “We didn’t…”

  “No we didn’t. What kind of a girl do you think I am? Besides, not only were you incapable of doing anything; you were the perfect gentleman. You insisted on sleeping in the spare room. I’m talking about what you told me.”

  “What did I tell you?” Smith said.

  “Don’t act dumb. What you know could be dangerous. Very dangerous. Have you spoken to anyone else about this?”

  “No,” Smith said, “I only put two and two together just before I called you.”

  “Good,” she said, “how’s your shower?”

  “What?”

  “Your shower,” she said, “I need a shower but I’d rather wait until I get back to the hotel if it’s like standing under a leaky pipe.”

  “The pressure is good,” Smith said.

  “Great,” she said and walked out of the kitchen, “I love this shirt by the way.”

  You can have it,” Smith said but he was not sure if she had heard him.

  “What have you got planned for today?” Smith asked when Proud was out of the shower.

  She had changed back into the clothes she had been wearing the previous night.

  “Research,” she said, “a dreary hotel room; a laptop with the slowest internet I’ve ever known and room service food.”

  “Sounds great,” Smith said.

  “You get used to it after a while. What about you?”

  “I’m supposed to be on sick leave,” Smith said, “but I feel fine. I think I’ll treat this fat feller to his favourite meal.”

  He pointed to Theakston. He was sitting by Proud’s feet.

  “Favourite meal?” Proud said.

  “Steak and ale pie. There’s a pub just down the road that does the best food in York. Are you hungry?”

  “I’m starving,” Proud said.

  “Then research can wait. I’m taking you to lunch. Just give me ten minutes to have a shower. I hope you didn’t use up all the hot water.”

  Sarah Proud laughed.

  “Take your time,” she said, “I’ll make some more coffee.”

  While Smith was in the shower, Proud looked around the house. She walked to the living room. There were three electric guitars in the corner gathering dust. They looked like they had not been played in a while. She spotted Smith’s computer, walked over to it and switched it
on. She smiled when she saw she did not need a password to access it. She opened up Internet Explorer and looked through the history. He doesn’t delete his browsing history, she thought as she scrolled down the list of recently viewed websites. She stopped when she saw her own name staring at her from the computer screen. Smith had tried to find information about me minutes before he phoned me, she thought, what was he trying to find out? She knew very well there would be nothing of any interest about her on the internet.

  The shower had stopped running upstairs and Proud could hear Smith brushing his teeth. She shut down the computer and went back to the kitchen to make the coffee. Theakston wagged his tail when he saw her. While the kettle was boiling, Smith’s phone beeped to tell him he had a message. Smith was still moving around upstairs. Proud picked up the phone and looked at the message. She recognised the number immediately. The message read, ‘be careful who you trust. Regards, a friend’.

  Proud deleted the message and put the phone down just as Smith walked in the kitchen.

  “That’s better,” he said, “was that my phone I heard?”

  “I didn’t hear anything,” Proud said, “Do you want some coffee?”

  “Sounds good,” Smith said.

  He picked up his phone. There were no new messages.

  “I’ve decided to take your advice,” Proud put a mug of coffee in front of Smith, “research can wait. I haven’t had a day off in weeks. These people will still be around tomorrow.”

  Smith found it strange that the group responsible for the death of two footballers and who knows what else always seemed to be known as ‘these people’ and ‘them’. It was as if they were some kind of deities. He was about to say something about Wolfie but decided against it. Sarah Proud was right. It would not hurt to take a day off away from everything.

  “So where are you taking us?” Proud patted Theakston on the head.

  “To a place like no other,” Smith said, “The Hog’s Head; a pub that has withstood the test of time and I’m not taking you, you’re taking me. My car is a bit worse for wear, remember. These people you talk about made pretty sure of that.”

  He regretted saying it immediately but Sarah Proud did not seem to notice.

  “Let’s go then,” she finished her coffee and stood up.

  Theakston was already waiting at the front door.

  The Hog’s Head was reasonably full when they walked inside. It was the school holidays and people had taken time of work to spend time with their children. Marge, the owner of the pub had hired temporary staff to help out with the extra customers.

  “Jason,” Marge said when she spotted him, “where have you been hiding? I haven’t seen you for months.”

  The Hog’s Head had been Smith’s regular pub for years now but he had not been there in a very long time.

  “Sorry Marge,” Smith said, “you know what it’s like. I haven’t been out much in the past months.”

  Marge looked at Sarah Proud.

  “Hello love,” she said, “Jason’s a decent bloke but he has the manners of an ape. I’m Marge.”

  She held out her hand.

  “Sorry Marge,” Smith said, “this is Sarah Proud. She’s a work colleague.”

  “Nice to meet you Sarah,” Marge shook her hand.

  She spotted Theakston standing behind them.

  “You’ve got fat,” she said to the dog, “you need more exercise.”

  Theakston wagged his tail. He liked Marge. He had stayed with her on numerous occasions when Smith had been busy.

  “After today he’s on a strict diet,” Smith said.

  “I’ve heard that before,” Marge said, “and I’m afraid he’s not allowed in here anymore. New regulations. Apparently dogs and food are strict no nos.”

  “He’s no trouble,” Smith argued, “You know that.”

  “I do know that,” Marge said, “but it’s not up to me. Regulations are regulations. It could get me closed down if somebody were to complain. You’ll have to sit outside on the beer garden.”

  “You’ve got a beer garden?” Smith said.

  “Just shows how long it’s been since you were here last,” Marge said, “It’s where the smokers have to sit.”

  She pointed to a door to the left of the toilets.

  “I’ll have one of the girls come out and take your order,” Marge said.

  Smith chose the table furthest away from the door. It was starting to get hot and the breeze outside was very welcome. A man was standing under a small oak tree next to the beer garden. He was smoking a cigarette. Smith was sure he had seen him somewhere before but he could not remember where it was. The smoke was drifting across their table. It smelled very strong. Theakston slumped on the floor and started to breathe deeply. A woman with purple hair approached them.

  “Afternoon,” she said, “what can I get you?

  “Two pints of Theakstons,” Smith said.

  At the sound of his name, Theakston shot up and looked at the woman with the purple hair.

  “Better make that three,” Smith said, “and a couple of menus. Do you sell cigarettes?”

  “There’s a machine in the bar,” the waitress said and walked away.

  “I never pictured you as a smoker,” Proud said.

  “I’m not,” Smith said, “I’m thinking about starting.”

  “Those things will kill you, you know.”

  “I got a funny feeling that smoking is not going to be the cause of my death,” Smith smiled and walked inside the pub.

  The man smoking under the oak tree looked at Sarah proud and nodded. She nodded back. He stubbed his cigarette out in an ashtray and walked inside the pub. Theakston growled at him as he walked past.

  SIXTEEN

  “Has anybody heard from Smith?” Chalmers said.

  Whitton, Thompson and Bridge were sitting in Chalmers’ office. It was incredibly hot; the fan on the ceiling was not doing a very good job of cooling the room down. Chalmers had beads of sweat on his forehead.

  “I dropped him off yesterday,” Whitton said, “he must be at home resting.”

  “I don’t like it,” Chalmers said, “Smith never rests. When we don’t hear from him it usually means he’s up to something.”

  “Maybe he’s just taking it easy sir,” Bridge said, “he had a bit of a rough day yesterday.”

  “Something’s going on,” Chalmers said, “I can feel it. I’ve know Smith for too long.”

  He picked up an apple from the bowl of fruit on the desk and took a bite. The heat had made the apple rotten. Chalmers threw the rest of the apple in the rubbish bin.

  “Did you want to see us about something sir?” Thompson asked.

  “The Super has had another one of his bright ideas,” Chalmers said.

  Everyone in the room groaned.

  Superintendant Jeremy Smyth’s brainwaves were notorious in the station. They were usually inane dreams that were thought up due to boredom and they seldom reaped results. Only months earlier, Smyth had had the bright idea to remove all of the doors in the station in an effort to improve communication among the ranks. The idea was met with disdain and the doors were all replaced days later.

  “What’s the old fool come up with now?” Thompson was the first to ask.

  “As you’re probably aware,” Chalmers said, “in recent years York has changed drastically. It’s gone from being the sleepy historical town it was to something akin to its namesake. New York.”

  “You can’t be serious sir?” Whitton said, “That’s going a bit far isn’t it?”

  “Smyth’s words not mine Whitton,” Chalmers said, “and he’s sticking to them. You must admit he’s got a fair point. Ok, maybe comparing us to New York is a bit far fetched but in the past few years we’ve had our fair share of gun toting maniacs. Surely you haven’t forgotten that?”

  He looked her in the eyes.

  Whitton nodded. She remembered the crazed Chinese man who had held her and Smith at gunpoint on a boat in the North Sea. T
hen, later on she had been drugged and abducted by the first serial killer in York’s history. A man who had killed nine people. Most recently a young woman had butchered seven men before holding Smith and Whitton at gunpoint at a caravan park in Robin Hood’s Bay.

  “What’s the Super’s bright idea?” Whitton asked.

  “Training,” Chalmers said, “weapons training.”

  Bridge’s eyes lit up.

  “We’re not allowed to carry weapons,” Thompson said, “Surely you know that.”

  “And you still won’t carry weapons,” Chalmers said.

  “So what’s the point of the training then?” Bridge said.

  “Smyth has analysed all of the violent crime stats over the past few years,” Chalmers said, “and he claims to have found a pattern.”

  “A pattern?” Thompson said.

  “He reckons that whenever we’re confronted with an apparently dangerous situation, we have to wait for the armed unit before we can even think of intervening,” Chalmers said, “with the appropriate training, Smyth reckons we’ll be able to cut down the reaction time drastically and nip everything in the bud before everything gets out of hand.”

  “His words?” Whitton suggested.

  “His words,” Chalmers said.

  “I’m in,” Bridge said.

  Whitton glared at him.

  “Hold your horses,” Chalmers said, “Like I said, it’s just an idea. Smyth still has to run it by the chief constable. It’ll probably not come to anything. I’m just giving you a heads up.”

  Nobody said a word. The silence was broken by the sound of Chalmers’ telephone ringing on his desk. Chalmers looked at it as if he did not know what to do with it. Whitton and Bridge stared at him. Chalmers answered it on the sixth or seventh ring.

  “Chalmers,” he said.

  “I think you’d better come down to the front desk sir.”

  It was Baldwin.

  “What’s wrong Baldwin?” Chalmers said.

  “I’ve got Tommy Pike here,” Baldwin said.

  “The football player?”

  “That’s right,” Baldwin said, “and he’s in a bit of a state.”