by stewartgiles
FORTY EIGHT
SUSPENDED
Monday 4 January 2009
“What the hell were you thinking of Smith?” Chalmers barked, “If that scumbag wants to, he can end your bloody career.”
“Sorry sir,” Smith said, “I just lost it.”
“Whitton told me about your Gran. I didn’t know.”
“That’s why I joined up sir.”
“And you’re a bloody good detective; now use that brain of yours to help me find a way out of this mess.”
“You and Bridge saw me sir,” Smith said, “You saw me beat the crap out of him. You’re both witnesses.”
“I didn’t see anything,” Chalmers insisted, “and I’ll make sure Bridge didn’t either but what about Maude’s mate?”
“John Bartlett,” Smith said, “he was in the holding cell at the end.”
“Then here’s the story we’re going to stick to. Our friend Maude thinks he’s in deep shit; he has a record but even so, with this burglary, he’s probably only looking at a few months or so. He’s not the brightest spark in the world so I’m going to trick him into agreeing to a sentence he would get anyway.”
“Thanks sir,” Smith said, “I appreciate it.”
“I’m not finished with you yet Smith. As of this minute, you’re officially on leave.”
“But sir,” Smith protested, “what about the Willow murder?”
“That one’s a dead end.”
Chalmers was serious.
“Forget about it,” he said, “Thompson was right all along, the husband did it. It’s always the husband, remember.”
“Something doesn’t feel right sir. We still don’t know why he did it.”
“Get out of my office before I change my mind. You’ve got two weeks owing, take it. Go somewhere nice, play with your dog, anything. Now piss off and tell Bridge to get in here.”
“Thanks sir,” Smith said, “I think.”
Two weeks, Smith thought as he closed Chalmers’ door behind him. What does someone do with two weeks off in the middle of winter? In Fremantle, this was the warmest time of the year. Smith knew immediately what he was going to do.
“What did the DI say sir?” Whitton asked as Smith walked through reception.
“He told me to piss off,” Smith replied with a wry smile, “he told me to piss off for two weeks.”
“Are you suspended?”
“Not officially,” Smith said, “I’m on leave.”
“What are you going to do for two weeks? What about the Willow murder?”
“That’ll have to wait until I get back. Right now, I’m going to do some private detective work of my own. Remember that guy at the Blues Club?”
“The White guy.”
“Whitey, yes. I’m going to find out what the hell he meant when he said my sister was still alive.”
“Do you need some help sir?”
“Thanks Whitton but I think I’ve abused enough of your time already.”
“I’m only a phone call away Sir,” Whitton said.
“I know Whitton,” Smith said, “but I think I need to do this one on my own.”