Smith

by stewartgiles

TWENTY TWO

  Monday 28 December 2008

  BIN DIVING

  “Where’s Thompson?” Smith asked DI Chalmers as the team gathered in the small conference room of the Police Station. The three Detective Constables, Whitton, Palmer and Bridge were already seated.

  “Glory hunting,” Chalmers replied gruffly, “he thinks he’s singlehandedly caught a mass murderer. He’s at the hospital arresting this Willow bloke.”

  “You’re bloody kidding me?” Smith said.

  “You’re bloody kidding me sir, if you don’t mind. Anyway, someone had to do it. What’s your problem?”

  “Sorry sir, you’re right.” Smith needed the DI on his side. “I need a search warrant for Frank Paxton’s house.” he added.

  “What the hell for?” Chalmers barked.

  “Can I have a word in private sir?”

  “You’ve got two minutes.”

  They left the conference room and Chalmers beckoned Smith to follow him outside.

  “So why the secrecy?” Chalmers asked Smith outside.

  He took out a packet of cigarettes and offered one to Smith.

  “No thanks,” Smith said, “I thought you’d given up?”

  Chalmers lit a cigarette, inhaled deeply and coughed.

  “That’s better,” he said, “I did give up but I think better with a bit of nicotine running round my veins. I always seem to start up again when we land a tricky case. What’s on your mind Smith?”

  “I found some medicine in the cabinet in Frank Paxton’s bathroom,” Smith said.

  Chalmers spat the cigarette out.

  “You did what?” he boomed as he bent down to pick up the cigarette.

  “I searched his bathroom. I had a suspicion I’d find something.”

  “You idiot. Any half-cut lawyer would have you on that one. What were you thinking of?”

  “That’s why I’m talking to you, Paxton doesn’t know I did it. If I get the warrant I can search it again legally.”

  “We still don’t have grounds to search the place.”

  “The Willows all had the same drug in their systems that I found in that cabinet, including Martin.”

  Smith emphasised the word Martin.

  “All three of them ate Pavlova that night; I’m sure that’s where the drug was placed. Besides sir, isn’t your brother in law some big shot judge? Ask him for a favour.”

  “I don’t need any favours from that prick,” Chalmers said, “I’ll see what I can do.”

  He flicked his cigarette under a nearby car.

  “We’d better get back in,” he ordered, “people are going to start talking.”

  “Listen up,” Smith shouted as he and Chalmers walked back into the conference room, “this is what we have. As you know, Martin Willow is being arrested as we speak. I have spoken to Willow and unfortunately this case is far from over. Martin Willow is no murderer.”

  “But Thompson is certain,” Bridge said, “and he’s been on the force a lot longer than you.”

  “Bridge,” Smith glared at the DC, “let me finish and when I was a DC, I addressed anyone with a higher rank than me as sir. Have you got that?”

  “Sorry sir,” Bridge said.

  “Where was I? Whitton, you’re coming with me. The DI is trying to see if he can get us a warrant to search Paxton’s place. Bridge, what do you know about Internet Banking?”

  “It’s the only way to bank sir,” Bridge replied.

  “Good, I want you to find out if someone has deposited money into Susan Jenkins’ bank account recently.”

  “What bank is she with?” Bridge asked and regretted it immediately.

  “Find out,” Smith barked.

  Chalmers entered the room again; he looked very angry.

  “You’ve got your warrant Smith,” he said, “but this had better produce something or my balls are on the block.”

  “Thanks sir,” Smith said, “your balls are safe. Come on Whitton, we’ve got a lot to do.”

  DS Thompson swaggered in with a smug look on his face.

  “Late again Thompson?” Smith said

  “I’ve been busy arresting a murderer,” Thompson said, “Maybe a double murderer. I’m sure the Super will want to see me at once.”

  “Sorry to burst your little bubble,” Chalmers said, “but we’re still far from clearing up these murders and the Super only likes to see people who can make his precious crime statistics look good for the Chief Constable. I’m sure Smith has got something to keep you amused with.”

  “Premature again Thompson?” Smith joked.

  “You can get pills for that these days,” Whitton added.

  Thompson glared at her.

  “I want you to find Susan Jenkins and her boyfriend, Mick Hogg,” Smith continued, “they left the country the day after the murders. They went to Tenerife.”

  “You want me to go to Tenerife?” Thompson seemed excited.

  “Find out where they are staying you moron,” Smith was becoming irritated, “make them understand that it is in their very best interests to get on the first flight back here. Understood?”

  “Can I say something sir?” Bridge said meekly.

  “Make it quick Bridge.”

  “I know a fair bit about computers, misspent youth or something. If we can get hold of this Susan Jenkins’ computer, I reckon I can get into her history and find out exactly where they are. I can also look for other correspondence to implicate her.”

  “Good,” Smith said, “now you sound like a detective. Take Palmer with you, his pretty boy looks can distract the two young women in the house while you hack into the computer.”

  DC Palmer beamed.

  “What about me?” Thompson said.

  “You’re our hero,” Smith said, “and seeing as though Bridge can find Susan Jenkins and her boyfriend without you, you can babysit the murderer you’ve just arrested. Maybe you’ll get a full confession out of him.”

  Thompson was furious. He approached Chalmers.

  “Can I have a word sir?” he said, “I’m not happy at all about the way Smith talks to me.”

  “Not now,” Chalmers said, “grow a pair of testicles, we have work to do.”

  “Detective,” Frank Paxton said warmly as he answered the door, “come in. It’s nice to see you again. Any news on the case?”

  “We’re getting closer, I think,” Smith said, “but I’m afraid we’re going to have to search your house.” He closed the door behind them

  Frank Paxton’s demeanour changed at once.

  “What the hell are you talking about?” he said, “Why do you need to search my house? You don’t think I have anything to do with this do you?”

  “I don’t know yet,” Smith said, “Whitton, let’s start upstairs.”

  “I assume you have a warrant?” Paxton seemed anxious.

  “Whitton,” Smith said.

  Whitton produced the search warrant and handed it to Paxton. He gave it a cursory glance and handed it back.

  “Would you come with us please?” Whitton asked, “We don’t want to be accused of anything untoward.”

  “If you insist,” Paxton replied, “I’ve got nothing to hide anyway.”

  “Where’s your wife?” Smith asked in the bathroom.

  “Roxy’s not my wife,” Paxton said bluntly, “she’s away.”

  “She has this convenient habit of never being here when we need to talk to her,” Smith said.

  “She’s away on business, she goes away quite often.”

  “What does she do?” Whitton asked.

  “Computers,” Paxton said, “She sets up systems for huge multi-nationals. She travels all over the world.”

  Smith had put on a pair of rubber gloves and was trying to open the bathroom cabinet it was locked.

  “Where is she now?” he asked.

  “North Africa somewhere,” Paxton replies, “Morocco or somewhere like that; I d
on’t really have much interest in what she does, computers bore the hell out of me to be honest.”

  “Do you have a key for this thing?” Smith pointed to the cabinet.

  Paxton seemed surprised.

  “I didn’t know it had a lock,” he said.

  Whitton eyed him suspiciously.

  “You’ve never locked it before?” she said.

  “Why should we,” Paxton replied, “we don’t have any kids and I don’t think there’s anything other than over the counter stuff in there anyway.”

  “Do you have a flat screwdriver?” Smith asked.

  “Are you going to break it open?”

  “Unless you find a key.”

  “I’ll get you a screwdriver. Roxy is going to kill me.”

  “This thing wasn’t locked two days ago,” Smith said to Whitton as Paxton went downstairs to look for a screwdriver, “Someone must have locked it since then.”

  Paxton returned with a screwdriver, a solid heavy duty one.

  “Please try not to make too much of a mess of it,” Paxton said.

  He handed the screwdriver to Smith.

  Smith inserted the screwdriver in between the doors of the cabinet just above the lock, tapped it in further with the back of his hand and pulled the handle to one side. There was a slight crunch and the lock gave without too much resistance. The doors swung open.

  “There you are Mr Paxton,” Smith handed him the screwdriver, “not too much damage, Roxy won’t even notice.”

  “She notices everything,” Paxton said, “what are you looking for here anyway?”

  “Just a routine check,” Smith lied, “you’d be surprised how many people hide things in their bathrooms.”

  Smith pretended to casually check the pill boxes but when he realised Paxton was not watching anymore he looked to the back of the cabinet where he had found the Benzodiazepine two days ago. He checked again. His heart sank. The drugs were gone.

  “Ok Whitton,” he said, “nothing here, let’s check downstairs.”

  Whitton was confused. Smith took her to one side.

  “They’re gone,” he said, “Someone must have taken them out.”

  “What about the Pavlova?” Whitton suddenly remembered.

  “Thanks Whitton,” Smith smiled, “that might give us something at least.”

  “Would you two like something to drink?” Paxton asked as they walked downstairs.

  “Coffee would be nice,” Smith replied, “what day do they collect the rubbish around here?”

  “Tuesdays and Fridays,” Paxton said.

  “Whitton,” Smith smiled, “put these on.”

  He handed her a fresh pair of gloves.

  “Thanks a lot sir,” Whitton sighed, “where are your bins Mr Paxton?”

  “There are two wheelie bins in the yard,” Paxton replied, “We keep them in there until collection day. What are you looking for now?”

  “DC Whitton is a bit of a bin diver,” Smith joked.

  “Be my guest,” Paxton said and went to make the coffee.

  Outside in the yard, Whitton carefully turned over one of the wheelie bins and emptied the contents piece by piece. She removed empty whisky bottles, wine bottles and beer cans.

  “This is exactly why I joined the force,” she said to Smith, “to rummage through the garbage of alcoholics none too bloody anonymous. There’s nothing here sir.”

  “Try the other one,” Smith said, “I’ll fill this one up again. Don’t ever say I’m opposed to getting my hands dirty.”

  Whitton repeated the procedure with the second bin. It was not as full as the first. She removed more empty bottles, a bag full of newspapers and then, right at the bottom was a white cardboard box. It had been crumpled under the weight of the other rubbish. She took it out and placed it on the floor. There was a Marks and Spencer label on the front. Carefully, she opened the lid of the box. Inside was an almost perfect quarter of a Pavlova.

  “Bingo,” she exclaimed, “We’ve found our Pavlova.”

  Smith handed her one of the larger evidence bags and she closed the lid of the box and placed the whole thing inside.

  “You smell like a brewery Whitton,” Smith observed as they drank their coffee at Paxton’s dinner table.

  “Thanks,” Whitton smiled, “those bins were brimming with Christmas spirit.”

  Paxton laughed.

  “You’re right of course,” he said, “we all tend to overdo it at this time of year. Did you find anything?”

  He did not seem the least bit concerned.

  “We don’t know yet,” Smith said, “when is Roxy due back?”

  “In three days,” Paxton replied, “just in time for New Year. Will there be anything else?”

  “Not for the moment,” Smith replied, “We’ll let you know if anything comes up.”