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

by Stewart Giles

  “Urgh,” Whitton said. “You call that a treat?”

  “It is in our house,” Chalmers said and walked outside.

  “Yang Chu,” Smith said. “You and me are going pub crawling.”

  “Sarge?”

  “Just following orders, the last places Riley and Mather were seen happened to be pubs. Let’s do a bit of digging. There’s something I need to talk to you about too.”

  The colour seemed to drain from Whitton’s face.

  Ye Olde Yeoman was surprisingly busy for a Monday evening when Smith and Yang Chu walked inside. The clientele consisted mainly of middle aged men. Smith walked up the bar and tried to catch the attention of a barman wearing glasses with the thickest lenses Smith had ever seen.

  “Two pints of Theakstons,” he made eye contact with the myopic barman.

  “I don’t usually drink,” Yang Chu said.

  “You do tonight, you’ll like this stuff.”

  The barman placed the drinks on the counter.

  “Four fifty,’ he said.

  Smith placed a five pound note on the bar.

  “It’s busy tonight,” he said.

  “I know,” the barman handed Smith his change. “Sad buggers all of them. Don’t they have homes to go to?”

  “Were you on duty here over Christmas?”

  “Unfortunately yes. I’m Graham. You’re police aren’t you?”

  “Is it that obvious?”

  “Not really, you don’t actually look anything like a policeman - more like a student if you ask me. I saw your photo in the papers. Something to do with those clown murders.”

  A student? Smith thought.

  It was the worst insult he had heard in years.

  “Christmas Day?” Smith said. “Was the pub busy then too?”

  “Packed, it’s quite depressing when you think about it isn’t it? Who goes to a pub on Christmas Day? It’s a day to be with your family isn’t it?”

  “Do you know Christopher Riley?”

  “Chris? The one that got killed? He used to come in here every now and again. Nice bloke. Kept himself to himself. Such a horrible thing to happen.”

  “Did you see him here on Christmas Day?”

  “He came in around three if I remember, and left around closing time. He must have had around nine or ten brown ales.”

  “Was he with anybody?”

  “No,” Graham said. “Chris is always on his own.”

  “Are you sure?”

  “Positive, I’d better get back to work.”

  Smith finished the beer in his glass. Yang Chu had barely touched his.

  “Two more pints please,” Smith said.

  He turned to Yang Chu.

  “You’d better up the pace a bit,” he said. “You’re lagging behind.”

  Yang Chu took a long slug of the beer and winced.

  “There was something,” Graham put two fresh pints of beer on the counter. “Just before closing, Chris was talking to this woman. They seemed to be very cosy. I think he might have pulled actually. They chatted for a while and left together.”

  “Did you know this woman?”

  “No, never seen her in here before.”

  “Could you describe her?”

  “It was quite dark, but she was quite striking looking. Black hair, unusual eyes. Pretty face though. She looked a bit like her over there if you lose the green hair.”

  He pointed to a woman sitting on her own at the other end of the bar.

  “Can I get back to work now?” Graham said but Smith had already walked over to the woman with the green hair.

  “Kjersti isn’t it?” Smith said. “You live across the road to the Chinese restaurant. You’re a Norwegian student aren’t you?”

  “I can see why you’re a police detective,” Kjersti smiled a sarcastic smile. “Who’s your friend?”

  She nodded towards Yang Chu.

  “Another police detective I’m afraid, can we have a chat?”

  “I’m always happy to help the police, can we sit at a table though?”

  She led them to the only free table in the pub.

  “Would you like a drink?” Yang Chu said.

  “A pint of Stella would be great,” she said.

  “And another two pints of Theakstons,” Smith added. “I see you’re getting a taste for it.”

  Yang Chu was halfway through his second pint.

  Yang Chu returned with the drinks and sat down.

  “You still haven’t caught her have you?” Kjersti took a long swig of the lager. “The woman who killed my neighbour I mean.”

  “Not yet,” Smith said. “But we will. Some new evidence has come to light. Can you remember anything else about Christmas Day? Something you didn’t think of before?”

  “No, like I told you, I don’t sit staring out of the window all day.”

  “Thank you Miss Pelge,” Smith stood up. “I assume you still have my card. In case you do think of something.”

  “It’s in my flat somewhere, thanks for the drink.”

  “Kjersti,” Smith said. “There’s something I don’t understand. You said we still haven’t caught her. The woman who killed your neighbour.”

  “Did I?” Kjersti didn’t seem worried at all.

  “Yes you did. Why did you say that?”

  “I don’t know, I suppose I must have seen it in the papers.”

  “The newspapers didn’t print anything about the murder suspect being a woman, that part isn’t common knowledge.”

  “I must have heard it somewhere else,” Kjersti said. “I hope you catch them anyway.”

  Smith stood up to leave. He was about to walk out the door when he spotted somebody familiar. It was Bill, the man who had helped produce a perfect photofit of PC Baldwin.

  “Bill,” Smith said to him. “Nice to see you again, “the artist’s impression you came up with caused quite a stir at the station.”

  “Only glad to help,” Bill said. “Have you caught em yet?”

  “Not yet, I need you to do me a favour. Don’t turn round yet but there’s a woman sitting over there with green hair. When I say so, turn round and have a look at her. Tell me if she could be the woman you saw with Christopher Riley in here on Christmas Day.”

  Bill turned his head and looked over at Kjersti Pelge. She spotted him straight away and waved. Bill couldn’t stop himself. He waved back.

  “Very subtle,” Smith said. “Could that be her?”

  “I don’t know, the green hair is a bit off-putting but she’s certainly pretty. It could be her. I don’t know.”

  “Thanks Bill,” Smith said. “You’ve been a great help.”

  “Wait,” Bill said as Smith was about to leave. “Isn’t there some kind of reward? Some sort of payment for me doing my civic duty. If you catch em because of me I mean?”

  “We’ll let you know,” Smith headed straight for the door.

  CHAPTER THIRTY THREE

  “Do you think she’s the one?” Yang Chu asked as they walked to The Fox Inn. “The Norwegian student, do you think she’s our throat slasher?”

  He was starting to slur his words.

  “I don’t know,” Smith said. “She didn’t seem too bothered about talking to us. She wasn’t the least bit nervous. Are you alright?”

  “I feel great.”

  He teetered to the side and had to steady himself on a lamppost.

  “What did you want to talk to me about?” He said.

  “Not now, we’ll talk later. This is the Fox Inn here.”

  When they went inside the pub, Smith noticed straight away that the Fox Inn was the complete opposite of Ye Olde Yeoman. A grand total of three people were inside the pub and one of those was Ted, the barman who was sitting behind the counter watching a football game on a screen above the bar. He looked extremely bored.

  “Two pinths of Sheaksons,” Yang Chu said to him and almost fell over.

  “I think you’ve had enough mate,” Ted said.

 
“It’s alright Ted,” Smith said. “He’s with me. I’ll take full responsibility for him.”

  “It’s your funeral.”

  He poured the drinks and placed them on the counter.

  Yang Chu stared at his beer. He shook his head, pointed to an imaginary beer next to it and started to laugh.

  “Which one’s mine?” He said.

  “All three,” Smith replied.

  Yang Chu picked up the beer and took a long drink.

  “He doesn’t usually drink,” Smith said to Ted. “It’s quiet in here tonight.”

  “Monday - the quietest night of the week. We used to have a quiz on a Monday. That used to pull the people in but we had to stop because of all the cheating.”

  “Cheating?” Smith said.

  “Bloody smart phones. People were looking up the answers on their phones. Any news on Arnold? We’re all still in shock. I don’t think I’ll ever get that picture out of my head.”

  “We’re working on it, do you know if Arnold was in a relationship?”

  Ted started to laugh.

  “Sorry, I know you shouldn’t talk ill of the dead but the thought of Arnold with a woman is absurd. Arnold wasn’t the relationship type.”

  “No female friends then?”

  “No friends of any sex as far as I’m aware, he always sat by himself and left here by himself.”

  “We’re trying to find a woman with black hair,” Smith said. “Quite pretty with strange eyes.”

  “We get a lot of people in here.”

  “In the past few days,” Smith said. “She may have been in here in the last few days.”

  “Like I said, we see a lot of people in here.”

  Yang Chu started to fumble in his pockets. He retrieved his mobile phone and dropped it on the floor. Smith and Ted stared at him.

  “The Norwegian student,” Yang Chu said. “I took a thoto when I was at the bar.”

  Smith picked up the phone and opened up Yang Chu’s photo gallery. He noticed there were five photographs of Whitton on the phone. He found the photograph of Kjersti Pelge and showed it to Ted.

  “No,” Ted said. “I’d definitely remember seeing her. Especially the green hair.”

  “Try to picture her with black hair, have you seen her before?”

  “I don’t think so. Do you think she has something to do with Arnold’s murder?”

  “We don’t know yet. Was Arnold acting strange at all when he was last here? Did he appear agitated in any way?”

  “No,” Ted said. “He was the same as always. He drank his usual five pints, read every newspaper in the place and left just before six like every day.”

  “And you didn’t notice a woman in here at the same time? She may have followed him home.”

  “Not that I remember. I think you ought to get him home. He doesn’t look well at all.”

  Yang Chu was standing with his head bowed. He was swaying from side to side.

  “You’re probably right,” Smith drained his glass. “Give me a call if you do think of anything.”

  He handed Ted a card.

  “I will,” Ted took the card and placed it next to the till.

  “I’d better walk you home,” Smith said to Yang Chu outside the Fox Inn.

  Yang Chu was taking one step forwards and two steps back. Smith took him by the arm and marched him slowly up the street. An elderly woman walking her dog crossed to the other side of the road when they approached. Yang Chu stopped suddenly. He started to make strange gurgling noises and Smith knew what was about to happen. He let go, Yang Chu lurched forwards and sprayed three pints of Theakstons into some dead rose bushes. Smith waited for him to finish and helped him up again.

  “Feel better?” He said.

  “No, I feel terrible. I’m never drinking again.”

  “I’ve lost count of how many times I’ve said that.”

  They continued on their way and stopped outside Yang Chu’s house.

  “Goodnight,” Smith helped him up the driveway. “Drink plenty of water - you won’t feel so bad in the morning then.”

  Yang Chu fumbled with the key in the lock and finally managed to open it. He was about to go inside but turned round instead. It was as if he had suddenly come up with a brainwave.

  “I just remembered something,” he said. “You said you had something you needed to talk to me about.”

  “It can wait,” Smith did not feel like bringing it up now. “Go to bed.”

  “No.”

  He appeared to have sobered up slightly after being sick.

  “What is it you wanted to talk to me about?” He said. “Is it about Whitton because I’ve decided what I’m going to do? You can’t tell me what to do in my private time.”

  “Yang Chu, leave it. Go to bed.”

  “No,” Yang Chu was quite animated now. “You might be my boss at work but you have no right to tell me who I can or cannot see when I’m not at work. I’m going to ask Whitton out whether you like it or not. I’m in love with her. I don’t care what you say. It’s none of your damn business what I get up to out of work hours.”

  It was quite a speech. Smith didn’t know what to say.

  “So there,” Yang Chu banged his hand on the door. “Now you know. What have you got to say about that?”

  Smith thought hard. He realised this was neither the time nor the place for the truth but he decided that’d never stopped him before.

  “Me and Whitton are in a relationship,” he said.

  Yang Chu stared at Smith with his mouth wide open. Drops of spit had formed at the side of his mouth. It was as if he hadn’t understood what Smith had said.

  “Me and Whitton are seeing each other,” Smith said. “It just sort of happened.”

  Yang Chu appeared to understand now. His whole body tensed up and his fists clenched.

  “You fucking bastard,” he moved closer and swung a punch.

  Smith stepped out of the way and Yang Chu lost his balance. He stumbled to the ground and hit his head on the concrete of the driveway. Smith tried to help him up.

  “Get your stinking hands off me,” Yang Chu screamed. “You bastard. You shit. You devious bastard.”

  “Go to bed.”

  “Bastard,” Yang Chu managed to get to his feet.

  Smith watched as he stumbled inside the house and slammed the door behind him.

  CHAPTER THIRTY FOUR

  Tuesday 25 January 2011

  The atmosphere in the small conference room was like nobody had ever experienced before. It appeared that an insomnia epidemic had affected the whole team. Everybody sat bleary eyed waiting for DI Brownhill to arrive. Smith sat in between Bridge and Whitton. Yang Chu sat as far away as possible from Smith. Thompson sat next to him. Yang Chu had a bump the size of a small egg on the side of his head. Nobody in the room spoke.

  Brownhill walked in with Grant Webber and sat at the head of the table. She eyed the lump on Yang Chu’s head with disapproval.

  “Morning,” she said. “I do hope the atmosphere in this room by no means reflects your attitude towards this investigation. Let’s get started shall we? The path report came in late last night and it appears that Yang Chu’s idea reaped results. Arnold Mather died at around eight last Wednesday night. Apparently they used some new technique of analyzing the fly larvae to determine this but we don’t need to delve any further into this just now. Maggots are the last thing anyone needs to hear about. So, we have a two hour window. Arnold Mather left The Fox Inn just before six and died around two hours later.”

  “We know all this already,” Thompson said.

  He looked very pale and his eyes were bloodshot.

  “We weren’t a hundred percent sure, but now we are. Two hours. What happened in those two hours that resulted in Mather’s death.”

  Silence.

  “Anybody?”

  “I have a theory,” Smith said.

  Yang Chu snorted.

  “Is there a problem?” Brownhill glared at Yang Ch
u.

  “No Ma’am,” Yang Chu said.

  “What on earth happened to your head? That looks very nasty.”

  “I fell,” Yang Chu said.

  “OK, Smith, what’s this theory of yours?”

  “I couldn’t sleep last night, and I thought about something Chalmers said. About the connection between Christopher Riley and Arnold Mather.”

  “Go on,” Brownhill said.

  “Chalmers reckons there’s a connection,” Smith said.

  “There generally is.”

  “I agree, but my theory regarding this connection is not about who they were but what.”

  “I don’t understand.”

  “Riley and Mather didn’t know each other,” Smith said. “I’m pretty sure of that but they were both similar in one way - they were both sad, miserable middle aged men with no friends or family to speak of.”

  “Are you suggesting that this woman is preying on insignificant wretches?”

  “Look at the facts. Nobody missed Arnold Mather for five days. Christopher Riley was only found because it happened to be his turn to look after the daughter. I reckon they were chosen carefully because of exactly that.”

  “Interesting theory,” Yang Chu said. “But aren’t you forgetting something. This woman still had to gain access to them somehow.”

  “Yang Chu, she watches them. She knows their routines. She preys on the very thing that makes them the sad cases they are. Vulnerability. From all accounts, this woman is very beautiful. It wouldn’t be too difficult for her to charm men like Riley and Mather into letting her into their houses. She could make them do exactly what she wanted, especially considering the amount of alcohol both men had consumed.”

  “Alcohol?” Brownhill said.

  “I spoke to the people working at Ye Olde Yeoman and the Fox Inn,” Smith said. “Riley had knocked back almost a crate of brown ale and Mather drank five pints of best bitter. That would have made them even more vulnerable.”

  “Hmm, but that still doesn’t explain the motive. Why is this woman doing this?”

  “I haven’t quite figured that one out yet, but I am convinced that both Riley and Mather were watched carefully before they were killed.”