Occum's Razor

by Giles, Stewart

  She stood up to leave. Theakston woke up and started to wag his tail.

  “Thanks,” Smith said, “I actually enjoyed myself today.”

  “Did you actually?” She emphasised the last word.

  “The lunch is on me anyway,” Smith said, “I’m sure we’ll be seeing each other again.”

  He stood up. He did not know what to do so he held out his hand. She took his hand and held on to it longer than Smith thought was appropriate under the circumstances.

  “Goodbye,” she let go of his hand and walked inside the pub.

  Thompson appeared ten seconds later.

  “It’s alright for some,” he said, “pub lunch while we’re all working. You wouldn’t believe who I just bumped into inside the pub.”

  Smith did not say anything.

  “That government witch,” Thompson said, “the one that was at the meeting yesterday. I wonder what she was doing here.”

  “Having lunch probably,” Smith said, “shall we go?”

  Theakston stood up and sniffed Thompson’s shoes.

  “That thing’s not coming in my car,” Thompson said, “I’ve just had it cleaned.”

  “That thing has a name,” Smith said, “and a soul. You’re hurting his feelings. Besides, he likes you for some reason; you should consider yourself privileged.

  Smith walked inside to pay the bill. Thompson and Theakston stood outside in the beer garden staring at each other.

  TWENTY

  Tommy Pike had sobered up considerably when Smith walked in to Chalmers office. He was sipping his third cup of coffee.

  “Smith,” Chalmers said, “this is Tommy Pike. In his day he was one of the best.”

  “We’ve met,” Smith was still smarting from the car accident after leaving Pike’s house.

  “Oh yes,” Chalmers said, “I forgot. Well, he’s decided to come clean. They’ve taken his son, Alfie.”

  “I shouldn’t be here,” Pike said, “I was drunk; I didn’t know what else to do. I’ve had enough. First Jimmy and now they’ve got my boy. They can do anything to me; I’ve got nothing to lose anymore but Alfie played no part in this mess.”

  “Tell him what you told me,” Chalmers said, “from the very beginning and don’t worry, his bark is much worse than his bite. He happens to be one of the best we have.”

  Smith sat down in front of Chalmers’ desk and took out his cigarettes. He offered the pack to Chalmers.

  “Benson and Hedges?” Chalmers looked disgusted, “I don’t smoke women’s cigarettes.”

  Smith lit a cigarette and sighed as he felt the nicotine rush through his bloodstream.

  “What’s the story?” he said to Pike.

  “It all started a few weeks ago,” Pike’s words were very clear, “we’d just beaten Watford at Vicarage Road.”

  “Vicarage Road?” Smith said.

  “Watford’s home ground,” Chalmers said, “let him talk.”

  “It was a huge game for us,” Pike continued, “I’m not getting any younger and this year is probably going to be my last season in the first team. Beating Watford meant we were not quite in line for automatic promotion but a playoff spot was on the cards. Me and Jimmy decided we would celebrate.”

  “Sorry,” Smith said, “where’s Watford?”

  “Just north of London,” Chalmers said.

  “Anyway,” Pike said, “we didn’t travel back with the rest of the lads; we decided to have a bit of a bash down in London. A bit of a change of scenery if you know what I mean. We planned to get the train back to York the next day, stay in a hotel for the night.”

  Smith stubbed out his cigarette and lit another. Chalmers glared at him.

  “We checked into the hotel,” Pike said, “and hit the streets of London with a vengeance. To cut a long story short, a few hours and about five hundred quid later we ended up in this club in the west end. Bloody pricey but we felt like we’d earned it. We were on the top of the world.”

  “Is this story leading anywhere?” Smith said.

  “Ignore him Tommy,” Chalmers said, “go on.”

  “We got chatting to a couple of Millwall players,” Pike said, “nobody famous. I can’t even remember their names but they were good blokes for southerners. Anyway, I don’t even remember how it came up but we got onto the subject of money. One of the blokes showed me his watch. It was a Rolex, a genuine one and he said it had cost him twenty grand. He said he didn’t earn that kind of money playing for Millwall, he had a little side earner going. He wanted to know if we were interested.

  “Side earner?” Smith said, “Illegal no doubt?”

  “Listen copper,” Pike looked Smith in the eyes, “I’m coming to the end of my career; I’ve been well and truly shafted in a recent divorce, any extra way to earn cash is welcome. I told him I was very interested.”

  “What about Fisher?” Smith said.

  “Jimmy was young,” Pike said, “he was destined for bigger things; he didn’t need extra money. He could have played for one of the top clubs. Besides, Jimmy wouldn’t get involved in anything dodgy. He wasn’t like that.”

  Pike started to shake.

  “Take your time,” Chalmers said.

  “This Millwall bloke introduced me to these three men. Jimmy wasn’t having any of it so he went back to the hotel on his own.”

  “Who were these men?” Smith said.

  “I don’t know,” Pike said, “but you could hear from their voices that they were foreigners and you definitely wouldn’t want to meet them in a dark alley if you get my point. I need a piss.”

  “There’s a toilet down the corridor on the right,” Chalmers said.

  While Pike was out of the room, Smith told Chalmers about his lunch with Sarah Proud.

  “You’re playing with fire,” Chalmers said, “that is one scary female.”

  “She’s alright,” Smith insisted, “she’s quite friendly when you get to know her but there’s something about her I just can’t figure out.”

  “It’s her job,” Chalmers said, “You can’t trust anyone in government.”

  “That’s better,” Pike sat back down again,” what are you going to do about Alfie?”

  “We’ll find your son,” Chalmers said, “go on.”

  “These men promised me more money than I could earn in a year,” Pike said, “cash too so Martha wouldn’t be able to get her stinking hands on it.”

  “Martha?” Smith said.

  “His ex wife,” Chalmers said.

  “I couldn’t say yes quickly enough,” Pike said, “It was the easiest money I’d ever earn.”

  “That’s all very well,” Smith said, “but what did you have to do in return?”

  “The play off fixtures had been decided by then,” Pike said, “all we had to do was beat Fulham in the first match and lose to either Darlington or Bury in the final.”

  “Sorry,” Smith said, “you’ve lost me there.”

  “Football’s not his thing,” Chalmers said.

  “The Fulham game would be the tricky one,” Chalmers said, “but we managed to pull it off. One nil in extra time. The money was practically in the bag.”

  “I must still have concussion,” Smith said, “why would these people pay so much money for you to lose a football game?”

  “Let him finish,” Chalmers said.

  “A week before the final,” Pike continued, “me, Jimmy and the Uruguayan upstart were having a few drinks in a club in town when who should turn up but these three goons. Three of them plus some other bloke who always seemed to be in the shadows watching. I knew he was there though. They wanted to know if it was still on and if it was there was a hundred grand in it for me. I said yes of course. A hundred grand is nothing to spit at. I needed the money. Jimmy wasn’t interested of course so he left again. That’s when they started to get ugly. They said if we didn’t do what they wanted there would be consequences. They scared the shit out of me to be honest. They pointed an imaginary gun at Jimmy as he was walkin
g away. I told them I’d have a word with him.”

  “What did they tell you to do?” Smith asked.

  “Lose to Darlington in the final,” Pike said, “it didn’t matter what the score was, all we had to do was lose. I thought nothing of it. I mean, losing is a lot easier than winning isn’t it? The trouble was bloody Jimmy Fisher had other ideas. I told him there would be other games but he was having none of it. He had to save the penalty didn’t he? They must have watched the whole game to make sure we did what we were told.”

  “I still don’t understand what they had to gain from you losing a football game,” Smith said.

  “Millions,” Chalmers said, “that’s what they had to gain.”

  “How?” Smith said.

  “Gambling,” Pike said, “they put ten million on a game they know they’re in control of at five to one and they’re fifty million up in the space of two hours. Easy money.”

  “Match fixing?” Smith said.

  “Bloody hell Smith,” Chalmers said, “it took you long enough.”

  “What about the Colombian guy?” Smith said, “Was he involved in this too?”

  “Not as far as I’m aware,” Pike said.

  “Then why did they shoot him too?”

  “Because they were pissed off I suppose,” Pike said, “because they could. I don’t know. These people are like ghosts. They appear and disappear like phantoms in the night. I’ve told you everything. What are you going to do about my son?”

  “There’s one thing I don’t get,” Smith said, “and I don’t mean to be disrespectful but why target a Mickey Mouse team like York? Why not go for one of the bigger clubs? Manchester United or Chelsea for example.”

  “Use your head Smith,” Chalmers said, “big teams are high profile; there are eyes on them from every angle. The risk would be too great. Besides when a player earns a million a month he’s not going to risk his career for a measly hundred grand.”

  “When was the last time you saw your son?” Smith said.

  “Yesterday lunchtime,” Pike said, “he went across the road to the park. He plays football there all the time. He’s useless but I don’t tell him that. He was supposed to be back at three. He’s a good kid, he’s normally back on time.”

  Pike wiped a tear from his eye.

  “You will find him won’t you,” he said.

  “We’ll do everything we can,” Chalmers said.

  “They came into my house,” Pike said, “bold as brass. The same three men. It was the stocky one that spoke; it’s always him that does the talking. He chucked an envelope on the table and said if I kept my mouth shut I’d get the rest in two days along with my boy.”

  “Why did they give you the money?” Smith said, “You won the game. That wasn’t part of the plan was it?”

  “They gave me it to keep my mouth shut,” Pike said, “Taking Alfie was extra insurance I suppose.”

  “But you still came to us,” Smith said.

  “I didn’t know what else to do,” Pike said, “I couldn’t just sit at home drinking myself into a coma. Anyway, how would they know if I’d spoken to you or not?”

  The phone on Chalmers’ desk started to ring. Chalmers sighed and picked up the handset.

  “Sir,” it was Baldwin, “you’re wanted at the front desk.”

  “Not now Baldwin,” Chalmers said, “I’m busy.”

  “It’s important,” Baldwin said.

  Chalmers slammed down the phone so hard the whole room vibrated.

  “Wait here,” he said to Pike.

  Sarah Proud and Brad Friedman were waiting next to the front desk when Chalmers walked in. Superintendant Smyth was standing next to them. He had an inane grin on his face.

  “Bob,” Smyth said, “our special guests would like a word with you.”

  “I’m busy with a witness,” Chalmers said, “It’ll have to wait.”

  “No it won’t,” Brad Friedman said, “is there somewhere we can talk in private? Your office maybe?”

  “Chalmers did not know what to say.

  “Give me five minutes,” he said, “I just need to finish something off.”

  He walked back down the corridor. Chalmers realised that his office reeked of cigarette smoke when he went in. Smoking was strictly prohibited anywhere in the station but Chalmers often bent the rules when he was particularly stressed. He opened all of the windows on the room.

  “The two suits from SOCA are waiting for me,” he said to Smith, “you’d better get Pike out of here. They want to have a word with me.”

  “What do they want?” Smith said.

  “That’s none of your business,” a voice was heard in the doorway. It was Brad Friedman.

  “Come on,” Smith said to Pike, “let’s get you home.”

  They stood up and walked through to the front desk. Sarah proud was talking on her mobile phone as Smith walked past. He smiled at her but her facial expression did not change. She seemed more interested in the man walking next to Smith. Smith did not see Proud end her call and immediately dial another number.

  TWENTY ONE

  It was three in the afternoon when Smith dropped Tommy Pike off at home. Smith had borrowed Bridge’s old Ford Escort. Bridge had said he would walk home from work; his house was just round the corner from the station. Theakston was fast asleep in the back seat.

  “You’ll find my boy won’t you?” Pike got out of the car.

  “We’ll do our best,” Smith said although he had a feeling it would be a lot harder than Pike thought. They had nowhere to start. Alfie could be anywhere.

  “Thanks for the lift,” Pike said.

  “Get some sleep,” Smith called after him as he walked up the path to his house.

  Smith was about to drive off when he spotted some activity in the park across the road. A group of young boys were playing football. He switched off the engine and opened the door.

  “Come on boy,” he said to Theakston, “its time to run off that pie.”

  Theakston stretched and flopped out of the car. He followed Smith across the road to the park.

  The group of boys stopped playing when they saw Smith and Theakston approaching. One of them ran off into the distance.

  “Afternoon,” Smith said, “Can I have a word?”

  The biggest of the boys stepped forward and stared at Smith with suspicious eyes.

  “We’re just kicking a ball around mister,” he said, “We haven’t done anything.”

  “I’m sure you haven’t,” Smith said.

  Theakston had spotted a pair of starlings further up the field and had set off in chase.

  “Do you play football here every day?” Smith asked the boy he had spoken to.

  “Pretty much,” the boy said, “what’s it to you?”

  Smith could never get used to the lack of respect children had for adults these days.

  “You sound funny,” one of the other boys said, “you sound like Mel Gibson.”

  “I get that a lot,” Smith smiled.

  He looked at the boy who had run off. He was standing next to an oak tree about fifty metres away.

  “What’s wrong with him?” he pointed to the boy, “Why did he run away.”

  “It’s your dog,” the biggest boy said,” his big brother was attacked by one of them. Took half his face off.”

  “It wasn’t one of them,” another boy said, “It was a Pit Bull. That’s a Staffie isn’t it?”

  “Bull Terrier,” Smith corrected him.

  “Same thing,” the boy said.

  Smith was about to argue but decided it was not worth the effort.

  “Does Alfie Pike play football with you,” he said to the biggest boy. He was obviously the leader of the gang.

  “Sometimes,” he said, “but he’s not here today.”

  “What’s your name?” Smith asked him.

  “Darren,” he said.

  Smith did not press him for a surname.

  “Was Alfie here yesterday?”

&nb
sp; “He’s shite,” another boy said.

  Smith could not believe his ears. The boy could not have been more than eight years old.

  “Shut up Kev,” Darren said.

  “Well he is,” Kev insisted, “his dads supposed to be this famous footie player but Alfie can’t play to save his arse.”

  “I said shut up,” Darren said and from the look on his face Kev could see that he meant it.

  “Alfie didn’t come home yesterday,” Smith said, “do any of you know where he might have gone?”

  None of the boys said a word. They just looked at each other as if they should not be saying too much to this stranger.

  “Ask Barry,” one of the other boys said.

  He pointed to the boy standing next to the oak tree.

  “Barry and Alfie are best mates,” he added.

  “Bum chums more like it,” Kev said.

  The whole group started to laugh.

  Smith walked over to the boy standing next to the tree. He looked terrified.

  “Hello,” Smith said, “its Barry isn’t it?”

  The boy’s eyes darted around him.

  “Where’s the dog?” he said in an unusually high pitched voice.

  Smith looked around. Theakston was stalking a squirrel about twenty metres away. The squirrel seemed indifferent to the dog’s clumsy advances.

  “It’s alright,” Smith said, “he wouldn’t hurt a fly. See, even the squirrel isn’t bothered.”

  A smile slowly appeared on the boy’s face.

  “My brother was attacked by one of them,” Barry said, “He still has the scars.”

  “That was a Pit Bull,” Smith said, “I’m also scared of Pit Bulls. My dog’s a Bull Terrier. There’s a huge difference. He might lick you to death that’s all.”

  Right on cue, Theakston bounded up to them. Barry immediately stood behind Smith and grabbed onto his shirt. Theakston looked confused.

  “Say hello,” Smith said to the dog, “and be gentle.”

  Theakston sniffed Barry’s legs and rolled over on his back.

  “He wants you to scratch his belly,” Smith said, “he’s much too lazy to bite.”

  Barry cautiously stroked Theakston’s belly. Theakston started to roll around on the grass.