Smith

by stewartgiles

  SEVENTY FOUR

  VERA CHUCK AND DAVE

  Saturday 14 February 2009

  Smith woke with a start. He had been dreaming again but this was a completely different dream. This dream had had a soundtrack to it; a very corny soundtrack. He quickly got up and put on a T shirt and a pair of jeans. Theakston was awake and he looked at Smith as if he were crazy. Smith picked him up and carried him downstairs. His mind was running at a hundred miles an hour. What was the song in his dream and why was it so important? Coffee, he thought. That would help. As he waited for the kettle to boil he looked through his CD collection. He had the entire Beatles catalogue on CD. “Which album was that song from?” he said to Theakston as if he was expecting an answer.

  He threw the CDs on the floor.

  “Crap,” he said as he looked through them one by one.

  He heard the click of the kettle and ran through to the kitchen. Theakston ran after him; he thought this was a great game.

  “Think,” Smith said as he sat on the couch with his coffee, “think.”

  He had checked the CDs with no luck. There must be one missing, he thought, maybe it was stolen in the burglary. He took out a piece of paper and listed the Beatles albums in chronological order. What was he missing? He took a sip of coffee and it came to him. There was a gap between Magical Mystery Tour and Let it Be, the best album of them all. He went back to the CDs on the shelf and there it was. The White Album. It was a collectors edition double CD so it did not fit in the CD rack. He put the first CD in the machine and put on track four. Ob la di ob la da started to play. Smith listened to the whole song. He played it again. It was similar to the song in his dream but it was not the one.

  “Shit, shit, shit, shit!” he said. Theakston immediately sat down and raised a paw in the air.

  Smith laughed,

  “I said shit,” he said, “but good boy anyway.”

  Smith looked through the CDs again. As he was glancing through the track list of Sergeant Pepper he found it.

  “When I’m sixty four,” he said.

  He did not know why but that was the song. He put the CD into the machine and played the song. Theakston started to bark. Smith turned up the volume and carried the puppy to the kitchen. He opened the back door and let Theakston out. When Smith returned to the living room he heard it. Paul McCartney’s irritating voice was singing, ‘Grandchildren on my knee, Vera, Chuck and Dave’.

  Smith put his boots on, grabbed his car keys and ran to the kitchen. He called Theakston inside and locked the back door. He picked up his phone and called Whitton’s number. It rang a few times but then he heard the voice mail message.

  “Whitton,” he said, “phone me as soon as you get this.”

  He tried again. Voice mail again. He opened the car door, put Theakston on the passenger seat and set off for the station. It was a distance Smith normally covered in fifteen minutes but today he made it in just over seven. He parked the car badly, picked Theakston up and barged through the doors into the station. Thompson was in reception speaking to an elderly lady.

  “Where’s Whitton?” Smith said.

  “I’ve no idea,” Thompson replied.

  “Is Chalmers in?” Smith shouted.

  “In his office.” Thompson looked at Smith in bewilderment.

  DI Chalmers was on the phone in his office when Smith barged in.

  “Where’s Whitton?” Smith demanded without waiting for Chalmers to finish his call. Chalmers held up his hand to tell Smith to wait. He ended the call.

  “What’s wrong with you Smith?” Chalmers said, “And what the hell is that?”

  He pointed at Theakston.

  “It’s a dog sir,” Smith said, “Have you seen Whitton?”

  “Calm down Smith. Whitton is off today; she’s going to a wedding.”

  “Where’s the wedding?”

  “In Whitby. These crazy people are having a wedding on a boat in February.”

  “When did you last see her?”

  “She was here earlier; she came to check her e mails. She looked very nice. All dolled up and everything.”

  “What time was this?”

  “About an hour ago. Her car was giving her trouble so that taxi guy said he would give her a good deal to take her to Whitby.”

  “What taxi guy?” Smith asked.

  “The one you always use. The Chinese one. What’s his name?”

  Smith was already out of the door.