“Damn it, why didn’t I think of that?”
“That’s why they pay me the big bucks. It’s time for that smoke.”
Whitton was talking to Yang Chu outside the house. Smith took out a packet of cigarettes and lit one. He inhaled deeply and let the smoke out through his nose.
“Yang Chu,” Smith said. “Do you have anything useful for me?”
“No Sarge, we’ve spoken to all the people in the neighboring houses - all six of them and nobody recalls seeing anything unusual. It turns out that the dead guy is bordering on the obsessive compulsive.”
“What do you mean?”
“One particularly observant old lady two doors down was rather helpful,” Yang Chu said. “She spends most of her time looking out of her window. She said that Arnold Mather arrives home from work every day at around one fifteen. At five to two he leaves the house and returns at around six.”
“He goes to the Fox Inn,” Whitton said. “We spoke to the landlord there. From two until just before six, he sits in the pub, drinks five beers and reads the papers. He’s been doing it for years.”
“When did the landlord last see Arnold?”
“Five to six last Wednesday. When the blizzards arrived he didn’t think anything of the fact that Arnold didn’t show up but when he didn’t turn up at two today he thought there must be something wrong and sent the barman to check.”
“What a sad existence,” Smith mused. “Plodding on and on and waiting for death. What else do we know about lonely old Arnold Mather? Relatives? Friends?”
“He had none. Divorced, no kids, parents are dead. He has a sister but nobody knows where she is.”
“He didn’t seem to have any friends either,” Yang Chu said.
“No relatives or friends,” Smith said. “Sounds a lot like me. Has anybody heard from Bridge today?”
“No,” Whitton said.
“Brownhill is going to have his balls on a plate if he doesn’t turn up sometime.”
“What now Sarge?” Yang Chu said.
“We’ll know more when Webber and the path guys are finished going through everything. I don’t mind admitting these murders have confused the hell out of me.”
“Do you think they’re connected?” Whitton said.
“Almost certainly, I just haven’t figured out how Christopher Riley and Arnold Mather fit together yet.”
CHAPTER TWENTY NINE
An hour later, the whole team gathered in the small conference room at the station. Even DCI Chalmers was present. Bridge had still not bothered to show his face and speculations were being tossed around regarding his whereabouts. It was uncharacteristic of Bridge to disappear like this.
“Maybe he’s ill,” Whitton suggested. “And he can’t make it to a phone.”
“Hungover more like it,” Thompson said. “I’m sick and I still manage to get to work. At least I make the effort.”
“You’re not ill Thompson,” Smith said. “You’ve had the same phony cold since I can remember. I’m sure Bridge will turn up sooner or later with a perfectly good excuse.”
“Can we get started?” Chalmers said. “I’ve managed to get away from that public school idiot for a while. I’ve forgotten what proper police work is like. Smith, do you want to fill me in on what’s been going on?”
“Of course boss, it’s good to have you back. Arnold Mather was found by the barman from the Fox Inn this afternoon around three. He didn’t show up at the pub so the barman went to see if everything was alright. Mather had had his neck sliced open. Webber seems to think he was knocked out with chloroform first. He was killed and then wrapped in a duvet on his bed.”
“When was Mather last seen?” Brownhill said.
“Last Wednesday, just before six. He left the pub and presumably went home.”
“So nobody has missed him for five days?” Chalmers said.
“The blizzards didn’t help, it was chaos remember. He didn’t show up for work this morning. He works as a clerk at a warehouse and he didn’t turn up to the pub like he normally does.”
“So he died sometime between Wednesday evening and today?” Chalmers said. “This isn’t good.”
“The central heating in the house was turned right up - permanently. The timer had been switched off. I think whoever killed him turned the heating up.”
“What the hell for?”
“I don’t know, the way he was wrapped up it was like he’d been tucked in like a child.”
“I imagine the heat didn’t do much to slow down the decomposition process?”
“No, Webber said the path guys would have to be careful when removing the duvet. The skin from the body would…”
“We get the picture Smith,” Brownhill said. “We’re not going to be too exact about the time of death then?”
“What about the central heating people?” Yang Chu said.
“How are they going to help?” Thompson said.
“Pre paid meters,” Yang Chu said. “Most people have got one these days. I’ve got one. When you can see how much it’s costing you to heat the house, you’re not too keen to have it on all the time.”
“Is it me,” Thompson said. “But is Yang Chu being completely irrelevant here?”
He took out a handkerchief and blew his nose.
“Nice thinking Yang Chu,” Brownhill said. “If I’m not mistaken, a pre paid meter can be analysed. We can check back over the last week and see exactly when the heating peaked. Thompson, get onto it right away.”
“Onto what?” Thompson sniffed.
“Get hold of British Gas, and get them to check Mather’s meter. Find out exactly when the heating was turned up. Once we know that I’m pretty sure we’ll be closer to finding out the time of death.”
“Something’s really bugging me,” Smith said.
“Spit it out,” Brownhill sighed.
“Two men are dead. Both of them middle aged lonely souls. Both were knocked out before they were killed and both were put onto their beds afterwards. It’s almost as if our murderer wanted to make them as comfortable as possible afterwards.”
“What do you think it means?” Whitton said.
“I don’t know, that’s why it’s bugging me. I’ve never seen anything like it before.”
“Let’s take a short break,” Brownhill suggested. “We’ll meet back here in half an hour.”
Smith, Whitton and Yang Chu walked in the canteen. Bridge was standing next to the coffee machine. He gave it a kick and walked away.
“Where the hell have you been?” Smith said.
“Rough night,” Bridge said. “Or should I say rough early morning. I only climbed into bed at nine this morning. I lost my bloody phone somewhere too.”
“The DI is spewing,” Smith said. “You’d better make up a good excuse. Where were you anyway?”
“Trade secret, if I tell you I’ll have to kill you. It was well worth it anyway if you know what I mean. Baldwin said there’s been another murder. Do you think it’s the same guy?”
“Woman,” Smith said. “We’re looking for a woman, I’m pretty sure of that. Have you tried phoning your phone?”
“How am I supposed to do that? I’ve lost my phone.”
“For someone who has moments of intellectual brilliance every now and again you’re pretty dumb sometimes. Get someone else to phone it you moron.”
Smith took out his phone and dialed Bridge’s phone. It went straight to voicemail.
“Voicemail,” Smith said. “That’s a good sign - if it had been stolen they would have switched it off.”
Webber burst into the canteen. He looked exhausted.
“What’s wrong with you?” Smith said. “You look like you’ve seen a ghost.”
“I’ve just spent an hour at the path lab,” Webber said. “And then another hour at forensics trying to peel pieces of Arnold Mather off a fetid duvet. It was the most disgusting two hours of my life.”
“But you’ve found something haven’t you? I know
that look.”
“That I did, I found hair. Black hair from a female to be exact. It matched the hair from the Christopher Riley murder.”
“So it’s the same woman. But we already knew that deep down didn’t we?”
“Your hunch was right for a change,” Webber said. “I dusted the thermostat on the central heating system and I pulled a couple of beautiful prints. They didn’t come from Arnold Mather.”
“Whose are they?”
“I have no idea. My guys are looking as we speak. They’re running them through the national database.”
“Oh well,” Smith sighed. “At least we’ve got something at last even if it isn’t much.”
“We’d better get back,” Whitton said.
“Nice of you to join us,” Brownhill said as Bridge took a seat next to Yang Chu.
“Sorry,” Bridge said. “I thought I was coming down with the flu.”
“But it’s mysteriously disappeared has it?”
“No, I still don’t feel well but I thought I might be needed.”
“Very conscientious of you.”
“Anyway,” Smith said. “Webber has a bit of good news. He found some hair on the duvet Mather was wrapped up in. It matches the hair he found at the first murder scene. Black hair from a woman.”
“It’s confirmed then,” Brownhill said. “But we already knew that didn’t we?”
“There’s more, there were fingerprints on the thermostat for the central heating. Webber’s guys are checking them out now.”
“Where is Webber?” Chalmers asked.
“He’s gone home to have a quick shower,” Smith said. “He’s had a pretty disturbing day.”
“Thompson is busy checking with British Gas to see if they can see when the heating was turned up,” Brownhill said. “Does anybody have any suggestions as to how we move forward on this one?”
“The two victims,” Chalmers said. “Always start with the dead ones. What’s the connection between them? There has to be something.”
“No connection as far as we know,” Brownhill said. “Christopher Riley was a computer programmer and Arnold Mather was a warehouse clerk. As far as we know, they didn’t know each other.”
“There has to be a connection, murderers don’t generally select their prey at random. Find out more about them. Find out how they knew each other.”
“Boss,” Smith said. “With respect, I think in this instance, they were selected at random.”
“What brings you to this conclusion?”
“Just a feeling.”
“That feeling of yours again? Dig deeper anyway. These men were selected for a reason. Find out what that reason is. Find out who these men really were.”
“I don’t think it’s who they were that’s important,” Smith said. “I think they were killed because of what they were.”
“Once again in English please,” Thompson said.
“Both of them were middle aged men - sad cases. Lonely men with nobody in their lives.”
“Bollocks,” Chalmers said. “You’ve just described just about every man who works in this station, yourself included. There’s a link between these men somewhere. Find it and you’ll get a lot closer to finding out who did this.”
Thompson entered the room. He looked even more grumpy than usual. He was holding a piece of paper in his hand. He handed it to Brownhill and sat down.
“Those people at British Gas spoke to me like I was an idiot,” he said. “There’s no respect left in the world. I’m not too good with graphs and all that stuff but they emailed that over.”
He pointed to the piece of paper Brownhill was holding.
“It appears we’ve beaten the path guys to it for once,” Brownhill said. “Yang Chu, give yourself a pat on the back.”
Yang Chu was beaming from ear to ear.
“According to this,” Brownhill continued. “Arnold Mather did have his central heating on a timer. The radiators were set to come on at three in the morning until half past four and then again from twelve noon until nine. That is until last Wednesday. The timer appears to have been switched off and the heating was turned up permanently. It’s been on for the past five days.”
“So he was probably killed last Wednesday around eight?” Smith said.
“It appears so. This is one of those rare occasions where creative thinking has triumphed over science. We’ve beaten the path guys at their own game.”
“Arnold Mather was last seen at the Fox Inn just before six,” Smith said. “He was killed between six and eight. We know that now but who killed him?”
“And why?” Whitton said.
“The eternal quadrangle,” Chalmers said.
Everybody stared at him.
“The four quarters of the investigative quadrant,” Chalmers explained. “That’s what old DCI Walker used to call it. Before your time I’m afraid. Where, when, why and who? We’ve got the easy part out of the way - the when and where. Now the shit part begins. We try to find out why.”
“What about who?” Bridge said.
“Find out why,” Chalmers said. “And the final part usually jumps out and bites us on the arse. I say usually but sometimes it’s not that obvious.”
“So what do you suggest we do now sir?” Brownhill said.
“Find the connection between the two dead men of course. Have I been talking to myself for the last half an hour?”
CHAPTER THIRTY
UKRAINE
Monday 2nd September 1991
The man and the woman stood and stared at Selene for a very long time. Selene didn’t know what to do. Her mouth felt incredibly dry and she desperately needed something to eat. She didn’t recognise either of them - they looked like they were in their early twenties and they didn’t look like anybody Selene had met in the six years she had been away from her family. The woman said something to the man in a language Selene had never heard before.
“Are you alright?” The man said in English.
Selene didn’t reply. She didn’t feel that she had the energy to make a run for it. She looked them up and down. They didn’t appear to be dangerous but Selene had learned that looks can be deceiving.
“Are you lost?” The man said.
“No,” Selene said.
“Are you hungry?” The woman asked her. “Would you like something to drink?”
Selene started to weigh up her options. This young couple didn’t seem like they were going to harm her, she was hungry and thirsty but it could be a trap. The woman said something to the man, he nodded and they turned round and walked away.
“Wait,” Selene said.
They turned back around. Selene walked towards them.
“I’m hungry,” she said.
“We have food and plenty to drink in the van,” the woman said. “Come with us - it’s not too far.”
Selene followed them for a few hundred metres. They emerged onto a narrow road. A green VW camper van was parked on the grass next to the road. Selene had never seen a vehicle like it before. Two surfboards were strapped to the roof. Selene didn’t even know what they were used for.
“There she is,” the woman pointed to the camper van. “we call her Mathilde. She’s not much to look at but she’s reliable. Let’s get you something to eat.”
Selene thought the woman had a kind voice. She followed them to the camper van and watched the woman go inside and emerge shortly afterwards with a brown paper bag and a plastic container. They sat on the grass next to the van. The woman made a breakfast of meat, cheese and bread while the man prepared some coffee inside the van.
Selene ate greedily. She couldn’t remember the last time that food had tasted so delicious.
“Where are you going?” The man asked.
He handed her a glass of orange juice.
“England,” Selene said without thinking.
“On foot?” The woman said. “That’s quite a trip.”
Selene realised she didn’t know where she was nor did she
know the way to England.
“Are you alone?” The man asked.
“Yes.”
“You’re certainly hungry,” The woman smiled. “What’s your name? I’m Florence and this is Bo.”
“Selene,” Selene stuffed a large piece of cheese into her mouth.
“Selene,” Florence said. “That’s a very pretty name. Where have you come from? How old are you?”
Bo said something to Florence.
“Bo thinks I ask far too many questions,” Florence said. “I can’t help it - I have a curious nature. It’s a very long way to England.”
Selene finished another bread roll and belched loudly.
“Scuzati Ma,” she said.
“You’re Romanian,” Bo said.
Selene froze.
How does he know that? she thought.
“We spent a while in Costinesti,” Florence said. “Bo came up with this bright idea to do something different. We decided to see what the surf was like on the Black Sea. Have you ever heard of anything so absurd?’
“The Black Sea is beautiful,” Selene said.
She’d been there once when she was very small. She remembered swimming in the sea with her father.
“But the surfing is terrible,” Bo said. “Next year we’ll stick to the west coast of France.”
“Do you need a lift somewhere?” Florence started packing away the remains of the food. “Our next stop is Poland. Krakow, Prague, Frankfurt and then the final push back to Paris. We’ve got a week to do it in.”
Selene had never heard of any of the places Florence had mentioned.
“Yes please,” she said.
“Yes please what?”
“Please take me with you,” Selene said.
CHAPTER THIRTY ONE
YORK
Monday 24 January 2011
Yang Chu and Bridge were talking by the front desk. Smith and Chalmers walked through together.
“Dig around a bit,” Chalmers said. “You should know the drill by now. Something’s bound to turn up. I’m off home. It’s my birthday in case you didn’t know. Mrs Chalmers is cooking me some liver and onions as a special birthday treat.”
Selene: A disturbing DS Jason Smith thriller (A DS Jason Smith Thriller Book 6) Page 11