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

by Stewart Giles

  “I need to get more exercise,” he puffed and put the amplifier in the boot of the car. “I used to be quite fit, believe it or not.”

  “You should try Yoga,” Yang Chu suggested.

  “I’m not that old yet.”

  Yang Chu dropped Smith off at home and Smith took the amplifier out of the boot.

  “Thanks a lot,” Smith said. “Do you want to come in for a beer?”

  “No chance. Remember what happened last time? I’ll see you on Friday.”

  Smith watched as he drove away. He went inside the house and headed straight for the living room. He plugged in the guitar, switched on the amp and started to play. The combination of the Orange amplifier and the Les Paul sounded amazing. The tone was perfect - it was the tone he had been waiting years for.

  Two hours later, Smith’s fingertips were numb. He hadn’t played for such a long time that his fingers were much more sensitive than they used to be. He put the guitar back in its case and turned on the television. An advert for McDonalds was playing. Smith walked through to the kitchen and took a beer out of the fridge. He went back to the living room. The news was about to begin. Smith thought about turning the television off but decided to see what was going on in the world. The main news item centered on the immigration issue. A so called expert on twentieth century mass migration was droning on about the issues causing problems.

  “Here we go again,” Smith said.

  He took a long swig of the beer. The pompous expert was informing the presenter that the main problem these days was not the volume of immigrants streaming into the country to seek better lives for themselves but the alarming number of so called stateless citizens. Thousands of people were flocking in with no papers to indicate where they came from and due to the neo-socialist policies in place, the British government were obliged to offer these stateless citizens some kind of asylum.

  At the twentieth mention of stateless citizens, Smith turned off the television and sighed.

  That’s why I don’t watch the news, he thought, nothing but doom and gloom.

  He selected a Guthrie Govan DVD, inserted it into the machine and turned up the volume. He fetched another beer from the fridge and sat back to listen to the virtuoso guitar skills of a man who looked like he lived on the streets. Theakston jumped up on the sofa and started to sniff at something on the upholstery. He began scratching frantically.

  “What’s up boy?” Smith said.

  The dog carried on scratching at the sofa.

  “What’s got into you?” Smith moved him out of the way.

  He wanted to see what the dog was going so crazy about. He lifted the cushion and found what Theakston had been looking for. An elaborate watch had somehow managed to fall down behind the cushion. Smith picked it up and examined it. The screen was scratched but Smith could still make out a mother of pearl moon on the dial. Smaller moons formed an outline on the dial. They appeared to be showing the different phases of the moon throughout the month. A long black hair had been caught in the clasp on the strap.

  CHAPTER SIXTY EIGHT

  Friday 11 February 2011

  The mood in the station seemed somewhat brighter than it had done a few days earlier. Smith and Yang Chu walked up to the front desk. Baldwin was talking on the telephone. She smiled at Smith. Superintendant Smyth appeared and Smith shook his head.

  “Morning,” Smyth said cheerfully and walked out of the door.

  Smith was relieved.

  Maybe he’s forgotten all about the top cop award, he thought.

  They headed for the canteen and went inside. Whitton and Bridge were sharing a joke at the coffee machine.

  “You two are in a good mood,” Smith said.

  Whitton looked at him and smiled.

  “I hate to admit it,” she said. “But Blakemore seems to have been right. A few days away from this place is just what the doctor ordered.”

  “I’ve bought a new guitar,” Smith said.

  Whitton shook her head.

  “I suppose it’s back to reality now,” Bridge said.

  “How was the McDonalds?” Smith said. “You didn’t think you’d be able to keep it a secret forever did you?”

  “I like her,” Bridge insisted. “I like her a lot and I like the kid. There’s no law against that is there?”

  “Ethics, it all boils down to ethics.”

  DI Brownhill walked in the canteen. She had a very grave expression on her face.

  “Something wrong boss?” Smith said.

  “We have a situation,” Brownhill said. “My office all of you.”

  Brownhill closed the door to her office and sat down behind her desk.

  “What’s going on?” Smith said.

  “Jessica Blakemore has disappeared again,” Brownhill said.

  “Again?”

  “I didn’t mention it before, I didn’t think it was relevant but you may as well know that Jessica suffers from bipolar.”

  “Bipolar?” Bridge said. “You’re kidding me? Are you saying our shrink is crazy herself?”

  “She’s not crazy, and if she takes her medication she’s able to live a perfectly normal life. Her husband contacted me yesterday evening. He hasn’t seen or heard from her since Tuesday. Her phone is switched off.”

  “Sorry,” Smith said. “But what’s this got to do with us?”

  “I’m coming to that. This isn’t the first time this has happened. Jessica seems to go AWOL on a regular basis. She always comes back but her husband told me something very interesting. He’s a very practical man and he started to keep a sort of diary to try and find out if something triggers these outbursts of hers.”

  Brownhill took a piece of paper from her desk drawer.

  “Jessica went missing two days before Christmas. She reappeared a few days before New Year. She disappeared again in the middle of January and once more at the beginning of this month.”

  “I still don’t see what it’s got to do with us,” Smith said.

  “It has everything to do with us,” Brownhill was getting angry. “The times Jessica went missing all coincide with the dates the three murders were committed.”

  The room fell silent.

  “You’ve got to be joking,” Smith said eventually. “Do you seriously believe Jessica Braithwaite is Selene Lupei?”

  “I don’t want to believe it, but everything is starting to add up. Every time we thought we were getting closer Jessica suddenly suggested we change tack for no reason whatsoever.”

  “I thought you’d used her in the past,” Yang Chu said.

  “I did, and she provided results but I’m afraid we can’t afford to ignore this. Too much points in her direction. The dates she went missing, the constant changing of our paths of investigation, not to mention the scratch on her face.”

  “She told me she did that to herself,” Smith said.

  “She told her husband that my cat scratched her,” Brownhill said. “I don’t have a cat. Grant found traces of skin under Luka Gravov’s fingernails. The next day Jessica appeared with a nasty scratch on her face.”

  “I think she left a watch at my house,” Smith said. “She must have dropped it when she slept on my sofa. The watch shows the phases of the moon. It tells you when the full moon will come out.”

  “We have to find her,” Brownhill said. “That is our main priority at the moment.”

  “I knew there was something not right about that woman,” Whitton said.

  “I still don’t get it,” Smith said. “You brought her in to help - it was your idea wasn’t it?”

  “That’s not quite true,” Brownhill stood up and looked out the window.

  There was not a cloud in the sky.

  “We’d kept in touch. We used to talk on the phone sometimes. She phoned me one evening and we got talking about this investigation. She offered help if I needed it.”

  “This just gets better and better,” Smith said. “The press are going to love it. Serial killer shrink helps police in
the investigation.”

  “This must never get out. We bring her in and see what she has to say. For all we know, this might just be a coincidence - she may be totally innocent.”

  “This is brilliant,” Yang Chu said. “No wonder we couldn’t catch her. She was with us all the time - watching our every move. She knew exactly what we knew and every time we got a bit closer she would nudge us in another direction. She was probably laughing at us the whole time.”

  “We’ve got a week,” Smith said. “That is, if she really is the psycho full moon killer. One week. We should be able to find her in a week.”

  “Where’s her husband now?” Bridge said. “We should speak with him.”

  “He’s on his way,” Brownhill said. “He should be here any time now.”

  “I still don’t believe it,” Smith said. “Something’s not right.”

  “Look at the evidence,” Whitton said. “It all points to her. It all makes sense now.”

  “Let’s wait and see what her husband has to say.”

  CHAPTER SIXTY NINE

  Ian Blakemore sat on a chair in the tiny interview room. Smith and Yang Chu were sitting opposite him. Ian looked exhausted. He was very pale with sunken eyes. He’d obviously not had a shave for a few days.

  “Ian,” Smith said. “It is very important that we find your wife. Do you have any idea where she might be?”

  “If I knew that I wouldn’t be sitting here talking to you would I?”

  “What about friends?” Smith said. “Family?”

  “I’ve spoken to everybody Jessica knows, nobody’s heard from her.”

  “Let’s start at the beginning. When did Jessica’s strange behavior start?”

  “She was diagnosed with bipolar a few years ago. It was pure hell at the beginning but when they figured out the correct medication she was my Jessica again.”

  “What happens when she doesn’t take her pills?”

  “It depends,” Ian started to shake. “One time is never the same as another. She can be depressed one second and high as a kite the other. Then she can freak out altogether. Once, I came home and she was trying to set fire to the curtains. I caught her just in time. That’s the scary part, you can never tell which way she’ll go.”

  “You told the DI that Jessica disappeared around Christmas time?” Smith said.

  “She was supposed to spend Christmas with my family in London, but she just vanished. It was the most stressful Christmas ever. Then, Just before New Year she turned up again. She acted like nothing had happened. The same thing happened in the middle of January and then again at the start of this month.”

  “I have to ask you this,” Smith said. “Do you believe your wife killed those three men?”

  “I don’t know. It sounds terrible. She’s my wife but you haven’t seen her at her worst. Anything’s possible. I don’t know what to think - it’s like she turns into somebody else when she doesn’t take her medication.”

  “We’ll find her. I don’t think she’s gone too far.”

  “What will you do to her?”

  “We’ll bring her in for questioning, and if she’s innocent we’ll know. Don’t worry. She’s going to be alright. How long have you been married?”

  “Seven years,” Ian said. “We met at University in Leeds.”

  “What about her family? What do you know about her family?”

  “She didn’t talk much about her childhood, and I didn’t pry. She obviously had her reasons. From what I gathered, her parents are both dead and she has no brothers or sisters.”

  “So you know nothing about where she grew up?”

  “Nothing. I don’t know how to handle this. After seven years of marriage it’s hard to accept that my wife is some kind of monster.”

  “We don’t know that yet,” Smith said. “We’ll do everything we can to try and find her.”

  “What do you want me to do now?”

  “Nothing,” Smith said. “Go home and try to stay calm. If she gets in touch with you call us straight away.”

  Smith opened the door to his office and sat down behind the desk. He was still finding it hard to believe that the woman who had helped them on the murder investigation was now their number one suspect. He picked up the phone and dialed Grant Webber’s number.”

  “Webber,” Webber sounded very irritated.

  “Have you had a chance to look at the watch yet?” Smith said.

  “I don’t know what you think I am. I’m not some kind of miracle worker. What did you expect me to find on an old watch?”

  “What about the black hair? There was a long black hair stuck to the clasp. Did you compare it with the other hair samples?”

  “There was no hair,” Webber said.

  “Are you sure?”

  “I’m not stupid. There was no hair. All I received was a watch in a plastic bag. No hair.”

  “Crap,” Smith said.

  He hung up.

  The hair must have fallen out somewhere, he thought.

  Smith switched on his computer and brought up the photograph of Selene Lupei when she was a young girl. He zoomed in and studied her face. Her eyes were striking. They seemed to stare straight through him. Smith had to admit that the girl in the photograph did bear a slight resemblance to Jessica Blakemore. He turned off the computer and left the office. He needed some advice. He walked down the corridor and knocked on Chalmers’ door.

  “What?” Chalmers shouted in a gruff voice.

  He was obviously in a foul mood.

  Smith opened the door and went inside. The office smelled vaguely of cigarette smoke.

  “Can I have a word boss?”

  “Make it quick, I’ve got a report to finish for old simple Smyth. The man’s driving me mad. I’ve been thinking up ways to get myself demoted.”

  “I could give you a few tips,” Smith said. “I need some advice.”

  “Sit down.”

  Smith sat down opposite him.

  “Out with it then,” Chalmers said.

  “It’s this Jessica Blakemore thing.”

  “The shrink?” Chalmers said. “Have you found her yet?”

  “No.”

  “You don’t think she did it do you? I’ve seen that look on your face before. You’re having doubts.”

  “All the evidence points to her - the days she disappeared, the scratch on her face.”

  “But.”

  “But no, I don’t think she’s our killer. I think all the other stuff is just coincidence.”

  “There’s no such thing as coincidence. You should know that by now. You said you wanted some advice? Go out there and find her. Only then will you get some answers and you can stop this namby pamby pontification.”

  “Thanks boss,” Smith said.

  “If that’s all, can I get back to this bloody report?”

  “What’s the report about?”

  “Immigration matters. What else?”

  CHAPTER SEVENTY

  Monday 14 February 2011

  After two days of frantic searching for Jessica Blakemore, Baldwin was more surprised than anyone to find herself face to face with the suspected serial killer early in the morning of Valentine’s Day. Blakemore was very pale and she seemed extremely agitated.

  “I need to talk with DS Smith,” she said.

  Baldwin didn’t know what to do. Half of the York police department had spent the whole weekend looking for the woman in front of her. She picked up the phone and dialed Smith’s number.

  “Smith,” Smith answered.

  “Sir,” Baldwin said. “I need you at the front desk right now.”

  “Give me ten minutes. I’ve just got a few emails to finish off.”

  “I need you here now sir.”

  She realised her voice sounded very shaky.

  “This had better be important,” Smith said and rang off.

  When Smith saw Jessica Blakemore standing by the front desk he thought he was seeing things at first. Baldwin looked
absolutely terrified.

  “Jessica,” Smith said. “Where have you been? We’ve been worried about you.”

  “I needed time to think things over, but I’m ready to tell you everything.”

  “What do you want to tell me?”

  “Everything,” Blakemore smiled.

  The smile sent a shiver down Smith’s spine.

  “I want to confess,” she added.

  “Baldwin, I want you to inform everybody of the situation. We’ll be in interview room four.”

  “Follow me,” he said to Blakemore.

  Smith led Jessica Blakemore through to the interview room. He opened the door.

  “Take a seat,” he said. “Would you like something to drink?”

  Blakemore didn’t reply. She sat down and stared at the wall. She had a vacant expression on her face.

  “Jessica,” Smith said. “We’re just going to have an informal chat.”

  He sat down opposite her. The expression in her eyes was starting to unnerve him.

  “Have you been taking your medication?”

  “I stopped taking it. I don’t need it. It makes me forgetful.”

  “What do you want to tell me?”

  The door opened and Brownhill entered the room.

  “Jessica,” she said. “Are you alright?”

  Blakemore looked at her and her facial expression changed completely. Smith could see hatred in her eyes.

  “Get out,” she screamed.

  “Jessica,” Brownhill said.

  “Get out,” Blakemore screamed again. “Get out, get out, get out.”

  She started to pull at her own hair. She threw large clumps of it onto the floor.”

  “Get out,” she cried.

  Smith nodded at Brownhill and Brownhill turned round and left the room.

  “Ok Jessica,” Smith said. “It’s just you and me. What do you want to tell me?”

  “I can’t take it anymore,” Blakemore said in a much calmer voice. “I want it to all go away.”

  “What do you want to go away?”

  “The numbness. I can’t stand it anymore. My whole body feels numb. I killed them all. Did you know that if you stare at the moon for long enough you see faces eventually?”