The Girl in the River Read online

  THE GIRL IN THE RIVER

  (SMITH’S FIRST MURDER)

  CHAPTER ONE

  Monday 16 January 2006

  By the way Superintendant Jeremy Smyth had started his presentation, DC Smith knew they were all in for a tedious few hours. When the month on January arrived in York city police station, everybody bar none looked forward to Smyth’s annual crime stat presentation with a mixture of apathy and pure dread.

  “Firstly,” Smyth spoke into the microphone with his annoying nasal whine, “for those of you not in the loop, I’ll quickly go over how my unique points system works.”

  “Public school moron,” DS Thompson said under his breath.

  Thompson was sitting next to Smith. He had lost count of how many of these lectures he had been forced to endure over the years.

  “Points are awarded,” Smyth said, “if that’s an appropriate way to put it, based on the seriousness of the crime as I see it. For instance, a parking offence is, I’m sure you’ll all agree, a relatively minor offence and as such, it is given one point. House burglary, three points, common assault, five and right at the top of the list is murder which earns an impressive twenty points. I’m sure you all get the general gist of it. Fortunately, and for the first time in all my years at this station we have only had one murder in the past calendar year and whether it was actually murder is still very much open for debate.”

  Smith yawned with his mouth closed and his eyes started to water.

  “I won’t bore you with the ins and outs of every single point awarded,” Smyth continued.

  Thompson coughed much louder than he had intended and Smyth glared at him

  “Sorry,” Thompson said, “I’ve got a bit of a winter cold.”

  Three and a half hours later, Smyth was finished and the entire York police force was emotionally drained. They had learned that overall, crime was slightly up from the previous year. Over sixteen thousand points had been racked up in twelve months. Smyth had defended the statistics stating that the sudden influx of immigrants to the city had influenced this increase greatly.

  “That was fun,” Smith said to DC Whitton in the canteen, “at least we’re safe for another year.”

  “How did he ever become Superintendant?” Whitton said.

  “He went to the right school,” Thompson walked in the canteen, “right school, right friends. The bloke’s a complete buffoon. Haven’t you two got work to do?”

  “We’re still recuperating from Smyth’s lecture,” Smith said, “what did he mean when he said that the murder case was open for debate?”

  “There was an old man pushed down the stairs,” Thompson said, “his wife was charged with his murder. Eighty two years old and charged with the murder of her husband. Can you believe it?”

  “Why’s it still up for debate though?” Smith said.

  “Because she’s dead,” Thompson said, “she died two days after her husband did. I suppose we’ll never really know what happened.”

  “That’s awful,” Whitton said.

  DS Chalmers burst in the room. He was very red in the face.

  “What’s up Sarge?” Smith said.

  “A body has been found in the river,” Chalmers panted, “we just got the call in now. A woman walking her dog spotted something stuck to a barge. She took a closer look and saw it was the body of a woman. Looks like Smyth’s crime stats are going to take a bit of a knock.”

  “Do we know what happened?” Smith said.

  “Not yet,” Chalmers said, “you and Thompson get down there and check it out. The body was found on Skeldergate just down from the Bridge.”

  Smith’s heart was pounding in his chest. This could be his first murder. In over two years in the police force, he had yet to work on a murder investigation.

  “Let me ask the questions,” Thompson said as they crossed over the Ouse Bridge and turned left onto Skeldergate, “I’ve got a lot more experience in matters like this than you. Just watch and learn.”

  He parked his car next to an ambulance and got out. A small crowd of people had already gathered to see what the commotion was. They were watching one of the two divers in the water as he bobbed behind the barge and attached a rope to the dead woman’s body. Thompson walked up to a police officer in uniform.

  “PC Brown,” he said, “get this lot away from here.”

  He pointed to the crowd of people.

  “What’s wrong with people these days?” He added.

  A woman in her thirties was sitting on a bench on the path next to the river. She looked very pale. A young Labrador sat at her feet. Thompson and Smith approached her.

  “Good afternoon,” Thompson said, “DS Thompson and this is DC Smith. Are you the one who found her?”

  The woman gazed up at Smith. She looked like she was going to cry. The dog started to growl.

  “Ben,” the woman said in a stern voice.

  The dog stopped growling immediately. Smith patted it on the head.

  “Sorry Ma’am,” Smith said, “I know this is unpleasant. What’s your name?”

  “Gillian,” she said, “it was awful. I take Ben for a walk every afternoon. I often walk by the river. I spotted something in the water next to the barge. At first I thought someone had dumped a bin bag there but when we got closer, Ben started to bark. I don’t think I’ll ever get that image out of my head. She was blown up like a balloon.”

  “Then she’s been in the water for quite some time,” Smith said.

  “You said she was next to the barge?” Thompson said, “Can you show us?”

  Gillian stood up and sat straight back down again.

  “Sorry,” she said, “I’m a bit light headed at the moment.”

  “That’s alright,” Smith said, “whereabouts on the barge was the woman lying?”

  “At the back,” Gillian said, “she was just floating against the ladder at the back.”

  The divers had managed to pull the body off the barge and get it out of the water.

  “Thank you Gillian,” Smith said, “you should really get yourself checked out by the paramedics over there; you’re probably in shock.”

  He patted the dog on the head again.

  “Look after her Ben,” he said.

  They walked over to the barge where the body had ended up. It was in pristine condition. It had obviously been well looked after.

  “Who would want to live on one of those things?” Smith said.

  “I reckon it would be quite peaceful living here,” Thompson said, “imagine spending your days going up and down the river.”

  “The current isn’t very strong,” Smith said, “She probably drifted down river and was snagged by the back of the barge.”

  “Stern,” Thompson said.

  “What?”

  “It’s called the stern,” Thompson said, “I thought you Australians knew all about boats.”

  “I hate boats,” Smith said, “I’d say she’s been in the river for a while.”

  “How do you figure that out?”

  “Biology,” Smith said, “when someone drowns, they sink almost immediately. Decomposition begins and gases are produced. After a few days the gas inflates the tissues and the body eventually becomes lighter than the water and it floats to the top again.”

  “How come you know all this?” Thompson said.

  “It’s my job to know all this,” Smith said.

  He bent down and put his hand in the water. It was very cold.

  “What are you doing now?” Thompson said.

  “The water’s freezing,” Smith said, “she could have been down there for quite a while before she rose to the surface.”

  “That’s not your job,” Thompson said, “the path freaks will be able t
o tell us that kind of stuff. Right now, our main priority is to find out who this mystery woman is.”

  CHAPTER TWO

  Tuesday 17 January 2006

  “The woman appears to have died around New Year,” Chalmers said, “Paul Johnson is the best pathologist I’ve ever seen. He’s rarely wrong.”

  “But that’s over two weeks ago,” Thompson said, “why did she only come to the surface now?”

  “Biology,” Smith smiled, “that water is freezing at this time of the year. The body would have decomposed at a much slower rate.”

  “Ok smart arse,” Thompson said, “we know roughly when she died but we still don’t know how she died or who she is.”

  “She didn’t drown,” Chalmers said, “we do know that. She was dead before she hit the water. Johnson didn’t find any water in her lungs. There was a deep wound on the side of her head. Johnson is convinced she was killed with a crowbar or something similar.”

  “Do we have any idea who she is?” Whitton said.

  “Not yet,” Chalmers said, “she doesn’t seem to be on any of the missing persons files,”

  “Two weeks,” Smith thought out loud, “she died two weeks ago and nobody has even reported her missing.”

  “What are you thinking?” Chalmers said.

  “I don’t know yet.”

  “Let me tell you what I think you’re thinking,” Chalmers said, “two weeks is a long time for someone not to be missed. So, either she had no friends or family, which is very unlikely or she died at the hands of somebody she knew.”

  “Most murder victims do,” Smith said.

  “And you’re suddenly an expert on murder are you?” Thompson said.

  “I’ve done quite a bit of research,” Smith said.

  “Well I’ve worked on four murder investigations,” Thompson said, “which is four more than you have. Three out of the four victims were killed by complete strangers. That makes your theory seem a bit lame doesn’t it?”

  “That’s enough,” Chalmers said, “Smith, you’re coming with me.”

  “Where are we going?” Smith said.

  “To meet an old friend of mine,” Chalmers said, “I’ve got a feeling Paul Johnson is going to like you.”

  “What about me?” Thompson said, “I was first on the scene on this one.”

  “You and Whitton can check through missing persons again,” Chalmers said, “broaden the search. Look through the national database.”

  “Have you forgotten that I hold the same rank as you?” Thompson said.

  “Only on paper,” Chalmers said, “come on Smith, let’s go.”

  “Have you ever seen a dead body before?” Chalmers asked Smith as they drove to the hospital.

  “Only one,” Smith said.

  He gazed out of the window. It had been Christmas day. Smith was sixteen years old. His father had been suffering from depression for a while. He had blamed it on the time he had spent in Vietnam during the war. Smith came home and found him hanging from a tree in their back garden. His life had changed drastically after that.

  “Smith,” Chalmers said, “we’re here. You were miles away there.”

  “Sorry Sarge,” Smith said, “let’s get this over with then.”

  The woman on the front desk at the hospital informed them that Paul Johnson was in his office. Chalmers knocked on the door.

  “Go away,” a booming voice was heard from inside.

  Chalmers smiled and opened the door. Johnson was crouched over a computer keyboard. He was typing frantically.

  “Are you deaf?” He asked without looking up.

  “Morning Paul,” Chalmers said, “it’s been a while.”

  “Ninety seven days,” Johnson turned to face them.

  Smith was taken aback. Johnson was not at all what he expected. The pathologist staring at him was not much older than he was.

  “Who are you?” Johnson said to Smith.

  “DC Smith,” Smith said.

  “Western Australia if I’m not mistaken,” Johnson said, “Perth?”

  “Fremantle,” Smith was amazed, “how could you tell?”

  “The accent from Western Australia is easily distinguished from the other Aussie accents.”

  “That’s amazing,” Smith said.

  “Not really,” Johnson said, “I’m messing around with you. I know who you are. I’ve heard all about you. I couldn’t tell an Australian accent from a Chinese one. Morning Bob.”

  Chalmers nodded.

  “How can I help you on this God awful morning?” Johnson said.

  “We’re here to see the body of the woman who was brought in yesterday,” Chalmers said, “the one that was pulled out of the river.”

  “Not a pretty sight,” Johnson said, “and I’ve seen my fair share of dead ones. Are you squeamish?”

  He stared at Smith.

  “No,” Smith said.

  “Good,” Johnson said, “let’s open up the fridge then.”

  He jumped up and walked out of the room. Smith and Chalmers followed him down a long corridor.

  “I have to warn you,” Johnson stopped outside a black door, “she’s not as pretty as she once was and the stench is something you have to smell to believe. Are you ready?”

  Smith took a deep breath and nodded. Johnson opened the door and the cold hit Smith in the face. Johnson had been right. The stench was unbearable.

  “Stinks like nothing else,” Johnson said, “there has to be something really not right in the heads of people who do this for a living. Don’t you think so?”

  The woman was lying on a table in the middle of the room. Smith forced himself to look at her. Her skin was a bluish grey colour and the whole body was bloated.

  “Can you tell how old she is?” Smith said.

  “I’m impressed detective,” Johnson said, “most people would have puked by now. Her teeth are the teeth of a young woman.”

  He smiled and revealed his own perfect teeth.

  “As we get older,” he continued, “our teeth become worn and slightly discoloured unless we can afford a fancy dentist. Also, even though you might not think so by looking at her, her skin was smooth. The epidermis has pretty much decomposed but when we looked deeper at the spinous cell layer, I’d hazard a guess that she was in her mid twenties.”

  “Ok,” Smith looked at the body again, “mid twenties, blue eyes and black hair. That should help us narrow down the search a bit.”

  “She had blonde hair,” Johnson said.

  Smith was confused. The woman lying on the table in front of him definitely had long black hair.

  “Let me explain,” Johnson said, “the hair appears black now due to the decomposition. The follicles are dead. This woman had larger levels of pheomelanin than eumelanin in her hair follicles which means her hair was definitely blonde.”

  “What else can you tell us?” Chalmers said.

  “I told you on the phone,” Johnson said, “you just wanted to see Smith’s reaction when he saw the body didn’t you?”

  “Am I that predictable?” Chalmers said.

  Johnson smiled.

  “She was killed by a single blow to the head,” he said.

  He moved the woman’s head to the side and parted the hair.

  “There’s a deep wound just above her left ear,” he said, “I’d say something like a crowbar was used. She was only hit once but apparently that was enough.”

  “Then she was thrown in the river?” Smith said.

  “She was dead before she ended up in the river,” Johnson said, “there was no water in her lungs. Now, if that’s all can you please leave? I’m hungry.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  “He’s quite a character isn’t he?” Chalmers said as they drove back to the station.

  “He reminds me of someone in a cheap horror movie,” Smith said.

  “He’s brilliant,” Chalmers said, “he’s only twenty six but he puts the other path guys to shame.”

  “At least we have some
where to start now,” Smith said, “mid twenties, blonde hair and blue eyes.”

  “That’s what I like about you,” Chalmers said, “always optimistic.”

  Chalmers’ phone started to ring on the dashboard.

  “Answer it,” he said to Smith, “it’s supposed to be illegal to talk on the phone when you’re driving.”

  “Smith,” Smith answered the phone.

  “Where’s Chalmers?” It was Whitton.

  “He’s driving,” Smith said.

  “We might have found out who the mystery woman is,” Whitton said.

  “That was quick.”

  “It was actually Thompson who stumbled on it,” Whitton said, “he’s very methodical. He started with York, then the whole of Yorkshire and then…”

  “Who is she?” Smith said.

  “I’m getting to that,” Whitton said, “a woman disappeared three days after Christmas in Darlington.”

  “Darlington?” Smith said, “Where’s that.”

  Chalmers looked across at Smith and shook his head.

  “It’s about fifty miles from York,” Whitton said.

  “Who is she?” Smith said again.

  “The missing woman could be Janet Swain,” Whitton said, “twenty seven years old.”

  “Who reported her missing?” Chalmers said to Smith.

  “Who…” Smith said.

  “I heard,” Whitton said, “her husband reported her missing just over a week ago.”

  “Why did he wait so long?” Smith said, “Hold on, we’re outside the station now.”

  Smith and Chalmers ran in the station. Whitton was waiting for them by the front desk.

  “Let’s talk in my office,” Chalmers said.

  “Tell us what you know,” Smith said.

  Whitton, Thompson, Chalmers and he were sitting in Chalmers’ office.

  “Janet Swain,” Whitton said, “twenty seven years old. She worked in a night club in Darlington.”

  “A night club?” Smith said.

  “The Titz,” Whitton said.

  “Doesn’t leave much to the imagination does it?” Thompson said.

  “No prizes for guessing what kind of club that is,” Chalmers said.

  “She was last seen at the club on the twenty eighth of December,” Whitton said, “she finished at the club at around three in the morning and nobody has seen her since. Until now that is.”