by stewartgiles
ONE
LIGHT MY FIRE
Monday 1 March 2010. York
The man walked into York City police station and stood at the counter. He was one of those men whose age was not instantly apparent. He could have been anywhere between forty and sixty. His face was tanned, his hair thick and when he looked directly at PC Baldwin, who was manning the desk, she could not help but stare at his eyes for a little longer than was appropriate. His eyes were too blue; she had never seen eyes like them.
“Can I help you sir?” she asked him eventually.
“I hope so,” the man replied in an accent Baldwin could not place, “I’m looking for someone.”
“Who would that be sir?” Baldwin sighed. Another time waster, she thought.
“I believe you have a detective Jason Smith working here,” the man said, “Can I speak to him?”
“I’ll just see if he’s in,”
Baldwin picked up the internal telephone, pressed a button and waited. She smiled at the man nervously while she waited for an answer. The man smiled back and his eyes seemed to become brighter.
“I’m sorry sir,” PC Baldwin put down the phone, “there seems to be nobody there. Those guys in CID seem to think they can do as they please.”
“I’ll wait,” the man said, “try again.”
“But sir,”
“Try again,” the man repeated.
He sounded angry.
“Hold on,” Baldwin said, “sir.”
A man was just about to go through the doors of the station. Detective Sergeant Thompson turned around. He had just finished a night shift and was about to leave.
“What is it Baldwin?” Thompson asked.
“Is Smith in sir?” she said.
“He’ll be back tomorrow,” Thompson replied, “he’s at a funeral in Leicester. Old friend of his. The rich one; probably left Smith a fortune.”
The man seemed to listen with interest.
“This gentleman is looking for him,” Baldwin said.
Thompson looked at the man suspiciously. Nearly thirty years in the force had made him distrust everybody.
“I’ll come back tomorrow then, “the man said.
“What’s this all about?” Thompson asked.
“It’s a personal matter,” the man replied.
“Then I suggest you try and contact him in a more personal capacity. This is his place of work.”
The man nodded and looked Thompson directly in the eyes. They stared at each other for a few seconds until Thompson broke eye contact.
“Do you know of a good hotel in the area?”
The man’s demeanour had changed completely. He addressed the question to Thompson.
Thompson thought for a while.
“The York Pavilion is very good,” he said.
“Very well,” the man smiled, “York Pavilion it is then. Thank you for your help.”
“Who shall I say is looking for him should Smith ask?” Thompson said.
The man smiled.
“Why should he ask?” he said, “And as you quite rightly pointed out, this is no place to discuss a personal matter. Good Day.”
The man smiled at Baldwin and walked out of the station.
It was raining as the man walked from the station to where he had parked the hired car. He shook the rain off his coat and got in the car. He looked around to see if anybody was around but the rain seemed to have kept the people off the streets. He took the briefcase off the back seat, placed it on the passenger seat and entered the code on the lock. He smiled as he thought about what the code stood for. It was the date that had changed his life. Maybe Smith is going to use today’s date on a lock one day, he thought and a shudder went through his whole body. His life is certainly going to change from today onwards. The man took out a mirror, carefully removed his contact lenses and put them in their case. He looked at his eyes in the mirror. They were such a dark brown colour they were almost black. He took off the wig and put it in the briefcase. He had shaved his head two weeks before and patches of grey hair had now sprouted randomly. He took the flat cap out, put it on his head and closed the briefcase. He turned the key in the ignition, switched on the GPS and typed in the address for the Royal York Hotel. The Pavilion was his first choice but since the Detective Sergeant had suggested that, he could no longer stay there. The address came up on the screen. Station Street. The man smiled; he had always liked the area around train stations. With all the people coming and going, it was easy to get lost in the crowds.
As he drove the man thought about what he was about to do. He had read everything he could find about Detective Sergeant Jason Smith. He was far from stupid. He put a CD in the player and turned up the volume. The haunting introduction to the Doors’ ‘Light my fire’ filled the car. He looked at the ‘No Smoking’ sign on the glove compartment and smiled. He took a cigarette from a silver case and lit it. The car slowly filled up with smoke.
“The first one is going to be tonight,” he said out loud.
The smoke had completely filled the car now.
“And I know exactly how it’s going to happen,” he added.