Selene: A disturbing DS Jason Smith thriller (A DS Jason Smith Thriller Book 6)

by Stewart Giles

  Smith drained the double whiskey in one go. It burned his throat as it went down and then hit his stomach. The warming effect was felt immediately.

  “Do you know him or not?”

  “What is this?” The barman said. “Who are you? Some kind of heavies?”

  “Yes,” Smith said, “I’m an underworld boss and this is my protection.”

  He patted Yang Chu on the shoulder.

  “He knows fourteen different kinds of lethal martial arts. Do you know this man or not?”

  He pushed the photograph in front of the barman’s face.

  “Yes,” the barman said. “Chris comes in here quite often.”

  “Was he in here on Christmas Day?”

  “He was.”

  “Now that wasn’t too hard was it? Was he here with somebody?”

  “He was on his own,” the barman said. “He’s just got divorced. He’s quite a sad case. What’s this all about? What’s he done?”

  “Nothing,” Smith said. “What time did he leave?”

  “Just after last orders. He finished his last brown ale and left. It’s quite depressing really. I mean, who wants to be on their own on Christmas Day?”

  “Did he leave on his own? Are you sure there wasn’t anybody with him?”

  “I don’t think so.”

  “Think harder,” Smith pressed him.

  “I didn’t see him leave,” the barman said. “I was busy clearing up the place. You’re police aren’t you? I’ve seen you somewhere before.”

  “Let’s go,” Smith said to Yang Chu.

  “That’ll be eight quid.”

  Smith looked at Yang Chu. He hadn’t touched his drink.

  “I don’t have any cash on me,” Smith said.

  Yang Chu took out a ten pound note and placed it on the counter. Smith picked up the untouched glass of Jack Daniel’s and drained it in one go.

  “You caught the clown killer,” the barman said. “That’s where I’ve seen you before. You were in all the papers.”

  He handed Yang Chu a two pound coin.

  Smith and Yang Chu were about to leave when Smith had the feeling he was being observed. A bald man in his fifties was staring at him. Smith walked over to him.

  “I couldn’t help overhearing,” the man said. “I’m not nosy but it’s quiet in here. The name’s Bill. You were asking about Chris.”

  “That’s right,” Smith said. “Do you know him?”

  “Only to say hello to. We’re not really friends. He gets in here every now and then. I was in here Christmas Day. I’d had a row with the wife and I came in here for a few quick ones before they closed.”

  “Did you speak to Mr Riley?”

  “No, but I did see him leave. He wasn’t on his own if you know what I mean.”

  He winked at Smith.

  “What do you mean?”

  “From where I was sat, it looked like he’d pulled. Lucky bugger. On Christmas Day of all days.”

  “Do you know this woman?”

  “No,” Bill said.

  “What did she look like?”

  “Bit of a looker. Long black hair. Weird eyes though. She looked right at me when they left. She had eyes that stared right through you.”

  CHAPTER TEN

  It was dark when Smith and Yang Chu emerged out onto the street outside Ye Olde Yeoman. The wind had eased off slightly but the chill in the air was biting. Smith fumbled with the key in the lock on his car. He was feeling extremely light headed. The whiskey had affected him straight away. He realised he hadn’t had a drink since before the stabbing a few months earlier.

  “Do you think you’re alright to drive?” Yang Chu asked. “You had two double whiskies back there.”

  “I’ll be fine,” Smith managed to get the door open.

  He started the engine, engaged reverse gear and took his foot off the clutch too soon. The red Ford Sierra stalled.

  Concentrate, he thought.

  He turned the key in the ignition again. The car was still in gear. It stalled again.

  “Third time lucky,” he smiled at Yang Chu.

  He started the car again. It shot backwards and slammed into a parked Mercedes Benz.

  “Shit,” Smith said. “Do you want to drive?”

  Yang Chu got out and walked round to the back of the car. He inspected the damage and got in the driver’s side.

  “You bust the Merc’s headlight. Your car doesn’t seem to be too badly damaged.”

  “She may be old,” Smith said. “But she’s a tough bugger.”

  “What do you want to do?”

  “Get out of here. There’s nobody around - nobody saw anything. The owner of the Merc will have insurance.”

  Yang Chu shook his head. He started the engine and drove away from the scene of the accident.

  “Not a word to anyone about this,” Smith said.

  He was starting to slur his words.

  “You can drop me off at my house,” he said. “And pick me up in the morning.”

  They drove in silence for a while. Smith knew he should’ve reported the accident but he also knew that it would only mean trouble. He was probably over the legal limit for driving and he could risk losing his job. Yang Chu stopped the car outside Smith’s house.

  “Thanks,” Smith said. “See you tomorrow. And remember, not a word to anyone about what happened. It’s been a while since I had a drink.”

  He stumbled out of the car and concentrated on walking in a straight line up the path to his front door. Yang Chu drove off without saying a word.

  Theakston was waiting in the hallway when Smith managed to get inside.

  “Hey boy,” Smith patted him on the head. “I’m slightly pissed. Are you hungry?”

  Stupid question, Smith thought, the dog was always hungry.

  He went through to the kitchen and put some food in the dog’s bowl. He suddenly felt like smoking a cigarette. He had stopped smoking after the stabbing and the time in hospital but he decided he wanted to start again. He opened the kitchen cupboard. He remembered there was still a full carton in there. He opened it up, took out a pack of Benson and Hedges and went outside to the back garden. The cold air froze his head immediately. He lit a cigarette and took a long drag. His vision went black. The buzz from the nicotine hit him at once after such a long time without smoking. Smith smiled as his sight came back. He took another long drag and sat back in the chair. The freezing air was helping to clear his head. He thought about the accident. It had been a while since he had had a car accident and then it hadn’t been his fault. Someone had loosened the wheel nuts and his front wheel had come off while he was driving.

  Smith stood up and went back inside the house. He was feeling quite awake now. He realised he hadn’t eaten all day but he wasn’t hungry. He went through to the living room, opened the side board and took out the bottle of Jack Daniel’s. He took a long swig straight out of the bottle. He switched on the television. The news was finished and the weather report was on. Heavy snowfall was forecast for the entire country.

  “Great,” Smith said. “That’s all we need.”

  Smith turned off the television and stared at the blank screen. He took a long drink and thought about what had happened earlier that day.

  The mystery woman with the raven hair, he thought, we need to find this woman.

  He took out his phone and dialed Whitton’s number. Whitton answered straight away.

  “Sarge,” she said. “Where are you?”

  “I’m at home,” Smith said, “I’m getting reacquainted with a couple of old friends. Have you got anything for me?”

  “Nothing, we spoke to Riley’s wife again. She’s not exactly a friendly woman. She didn’t seem to care too much either. Are you alright? You sound a bit down.”

  “I’m fine,” Smith said. “Jack is starting to cheer me up.”

  “Are you drunk?”

  “A little bit. We need to find a mysterious woman with black hair and peculiar eyes.”
>
  “Sarge?”

  “Christopher Riley was seen with a woman on Christmas Day,” Smith said. “She’s one of the last people to see him alive. We need to find out who she is.”

  “It’s getting late, get some sleep.”

  “I will,” Smith said. “Oh and Whitton.”

  “Yes,”

  “Yang Chu is smitten with you.”

  “Goodnight Sarge,” Whitton rang off.

  Smith put the phone down and went upstairs. He lay on the bed and was asleep in seconds.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Tuesday 28 December 2010

  The woman ran through the fields. The rain was falling on her long black hair. Something was chasing her. The full moon lit her way. Her pursuers were gaining on her. A pack of wolves. Their teeth were bared and saliva dripped from their fangs. The woman increased her speed but it was futile. The snarling beasts behind her were faster. They snapped at her heels as she ran. She was holding a knife but she knew it would be useless. There were too many of them. A cloud drifted across the face of the moon and the field was cloaked in darkness. The woman was tiring - she wouldn’t be able to keep going for much longer. The cloud revealed the glow of the full moon again and the wolves moved in for the attack. The woman raised the knife in the air and brought it down on the head of one of the wolves. It wasn’t enough - two more pounced and pinned her to the ground. She looked up at the moon as the biggest wolf locked his teeth on her neck. Her throat was torn open and the blood gushed out.

  “Holy shit,” Smith shot up in the bed.

  He was drenched in sweat. Theakston was fast asleep at his feet, oblivious to what was going on. It was still dark outside. Smith looked at the clock on the bedside table. It was seven in the morning.

  Smith got out of bed and went to the bathroom. He looked at his face in the mirror. He had heavy dark bags under his eyes. He washed his face with some water and breathed deeply. He suddenly experienced a peculiar sensation - it was as if someone was watching him. He looked in the mirror again.

  “I need to get more sleep,” he said to the face in the mirror.

  He was about to go back to the bedroom when he spotted something. There was a woman standing in the doorway behind him. He could make out her features in the bathroom mirror. It was the woman with the long black hair and unnerving eyes. Blood was pouring down her neck.

  Smith shot up in his bed again. He woke up with such a jolt that Theakston fell off the bed and started barking at him.

  “What the hell is happening to me?” he said.

  He looked at the clock. It was still seven in the morning. Sweat had drenched the sheets in the bed. He got out of bed, dressed and went downstairs and turned on the kettle. He tried to brush the dream aside but it was still fresh in his mind. He hadn’t had a nightmare for a very long time. In the past it was Laura, his sister he used to dream about on a regular basis but those dreams had stopped. There was a knock on the door.

  Yang Chu’s early, he thought.

  He walked through and opened the door. Snow had fallen during the night and a thick blanket of white covered the streets. There was nobody outside. A small package had been placed on the doorstep. Smith went outside and looked around. The streets were deserted. There were footprints in the snow leading up to his house. He picked up the package and went back inside. He made some coffee and opened the back door. Theakston appeared in the kitchen, stretched languidly and strolled outside. Smith picked up the coffee, a pack of cigarettes and followed after him. The back garden was white. Smith lit a cigarette and smiled. He picked up a handful of snow, packed it together into a tight ball and threw it at the dog. There was a soft thud and the snowball fell from Theakston’s rear end. He didn’t look impressed. He shook the remaining snow off and went back inside before Smith had the chance to make another snowball.

  “Sorry boy,” Smith laughed loudly. “I couldn’t resist it. We never had much snow when I was growing up.”

  Smith finished his cigarette and lit up another one.

  “Morning,” Yang Chu stepped outside. “I knocked but you didn’t answer. The front door was open. How are you feeling? You don’t look too well.”

  “I’m fine. I had a weird dream though. I’ve never had a dream like it before. Do you want some coffee? The kettle’s just boiled.”

  Smith made two fresh cups of coffee and sat down at the kitchen table. Yang Chu sat opposite him.

  “What’s that?” Yang Chu pointed to the small package on the table.

  “I have no idea. Someone left it on my doorstep this morning. They knocked but when I went outside there was nobody about.”

  “That’s weird,” Yang Chu said. “Don’t you want to see what’s inside?”

  Smith opened up the box. All it contained was a Michelin map of Romania. There was no note to indicate where it had come from.

  “Romania?” Yang Chu said. “Are you planning a trip to Romania?”

  “I don’t even know where Romania is,” Smith opened up the map and spread it out on the table.

  A small portion of the map had been highlighted with a green marker pen - a section in the north east of the country.

  “Why would someone leave a map of Romania on your doorstep?” Yang Chu studied the map carefully. “I’ve never heard of any of these place names.”

  “I have no idea. I suppose we should get going.”

  He stood up and left the map on the table.

  Whitton and Bridge were in the canteen when Smith and Yang Chu walked in. Bridge looked like he’d had a rough night - his eyes were red and he hadn’t shaved.

  “You look like you had more to drink than me last night,” Smith said to him.

  “New lady friend,” Bridge smiled. “She can drink anyone under the table. She’s gorgeous though. I met her at a club on Boxing Day.”

  “I don’t want to know,” Smith walked over to the coffee machine and got a cup of strong coffee.

  “Coffee break’s over,” Brownhill marched in the canteen. “We have some news about the murder. My office now.”

  She marched out again. Smith took a sip of the coffee and winced. It tasted awful.

  “What is it about coffee in police canteens?” he said. “Read any detective novel and there’s one thing they all have in common - all the police canteens serve shit coffee.”

  “We’d better go,” Whitton said. “Brownhill looks quite scary this morning.”

  Two minutes later, Smith, Whitton, Bridge and Yang Chu stood against the wall in Brownhill’s office.

  “Firing squad,” Smith whispered to Whitton. “Looks like we’re about to face a firing squad.”

  “Where’s Thompson?” Brownhill walked inside.

  “I thought he was off with a cold,” Smith said.

  “He’s due back in today. It’s not acceptable to be absent from duty because of a common cold. I told him as much. Anyway, we can’t wait for him. Take a seat.”

  Everyone sat in front of Brownhill’s desk.

  “Grant has finished his report,” Brownhill began. “All the fingerprints found in the flat were Riley’s. That’s the bad news. The good news is this. He found a good few hairs on the bed sheets that definitely didn’t belong to Riley.”

  “Let me guess,” Smith said. “They were long and black.”

  “That’s right,” Brownhill looked surprised. “How did you know that?”

  Smith told her about the woman who had been seen with Riley at Ye Olde Yeoman on Christmas Day.

  “We need to find this woman,” Brownhill said.

  Smith smiled.

  “The path report came up with something even more intriguing,” Brownhill continued. “Riley had a very impressive blood alcohol count. He died due to loss of blood from the wound in his neck. This is the interesting part. The path guys found traces of Trichloromethane in the membranes of his nose and throat.”

  “Trichloro what?” Bridge said.

  “Chloroform,” Brownhill said. “It appears that Mr Rile
y was anaesthetised before he was killed.”

  “That ties up with Webber’s theory,” Smith said. “That he had his throat cut while he was lying on his stomach. But why bother to knock him out if you’re going to kill him anyway? If he’d had so much to drink anyway, surely that was a bit unnecessary.”

  “We don’t know yet. I’m just giving you the facts.”

  “Chloroform,” Smith found himself thinking out loud. “I thought that was now illegal.”

  “It is, you can’t just get it over the counter in a Pharmacy but I suppose when you’re planning on murdering someone, you don’t exactly worry about the law do you?”

  “There are ways to get hold of anything if you’re willing to pay for it,” Whitton said.

  “I still don’t get why the murderer would use it in the first place,” Yang Chu joined the conversation. “Like the Sarge said, if you’re going to murder someone, why knock them out first?”

  “One thing’s for sure,” Smith said. “This wasn’t some argument that got out of hand - it was a meticulously planned murder.”

  The door opened and DS Thompson walked in. He looked like he had been running. His face was wet and sweat was dripping from his nose.

  “Nice of you to join us,” Brownhill said. “You really don’t look well.”

  “You try to catch a bus in this weather,” Thompson sniffed. “All the routes have been cancelled due to the snow. I had to walk the whole bloody way.”

  “Bus?” Smith said. “What’s wrong with the faithful Audi?”

  “I traded it in. Mrs Thompson persuaded me to buy another car. She’s always wanted a Mercedes Benz. Her brother in law has one. Anyway, to cut a long story short, we were visiting the in laws yesterday - Mrs Thompson wanted to show off the new car and when we were ready to leave I noticed that some moron had smashed one of my headlights in. Smashed it to bloody pieces they did. Now the car’s in for repairs. It’s only done ten miles.”

  Smith glanced across at Yang Chu and smiled. Yang Chu also had a huge grin on his face.

  “I’m going to find out who did it,” Thompson was adamant. “There was red paint on the smashed light. I’ll find the bastards and they’re going to pay.”