TWENTY SEVEN
FIRST FIGHT
Thursday 31 December 2008
“Almost the end of another year Whitton,” Smith said, “any plans for tonight?”
“Not yet sir,” she replied, “what about you?”
“Anywhere far away from this place. I worked Christmas so some other sucker can deal with the drunks and hooligans tonight. I need a day or two away from the case. To clear my head. I think I’ll see the New Year in at the Deep Blues Club, I may even get up and play for a bit if I’m in the mood.”
“Do you mind if I join you?” Whitton asked.
“What, like a date?”
“No,” Whitton blushed, “it would be nice to hear you play that’s all. How’s Theakston?”
“Full time resident at the Hog’s Head at the moment. Marge doesn’t mind though, she says it’s a bit of company for her. I was thinking of having a few beers there first tonight; the Deep Blues Club doesn’t really get going until after ten.”
“I’ll meet you there at around eight then,” Whitton suggested.
“It’s a date,” Smith joked, “or not.”
“Anything new on the horizon?” DI Chalmers poked his head round the door.
“Nothing as yet sir,” Smith said, “We’re waiting for some DNA results. We need to find out who was the father of Lauren Cowley’s baby.”
“Who’s in the running?”
“Martin Willow of course, Frank Paxton and Susan Jenkins’ boyfriend, Mick Hogg.”
“Odds on favourite?”
“Martin Willow I suppose, we’ll have to wait and see.”
“I believe your evidence did a runner,” Chalmers said with a wry smile.
“Sir?” Smith asked.
“The drugs,” Chalmers added, “I believe they had disappeared when you returned with the warrant.”
“How did you know sir?” Smith looked at Whitton.
“Don’t worry Smith, Whitton didn’t say a word, I play poker with Paul on Wednesday nights.”
“Paul?” Smith was confused.
“I think you know him as the Ghoul. Real bugger to play poker against. He brought me up to scratch and he speaks very highly of you Whitton. Paul’s very rarely impressed with anyone.”
Smith looked at his watch.
“That’s enough for today,” he said, “See you next year Sir.”
“All the best Smith,” Chalmers said, “you too Whitton.”
“Sorry Whitton,” Smith said when Chalmers had left.
“So you bloody should be,” she glared at him, “I’ve got your back.”
“Our first fight,” Smith smiled at her.
She reluctantly smiled back.
“See you at eight,” she said.
TWENTY EIGHT
UNFAITHFUL
“Do you want another glass of wine?” Frank Paxton asked.
“Go on then,” Roxy Jones replied, “I’ll be asleep before the clock strikes twelve though.”
“How was Morocco or wherever it was you went?”
“Same old shit. It doesn’t matter where you are in the world; a computer screen is a computer screen. Did I miss much while I was away?”
“Apart from the police paying me regular visits, not much. Oh, and I went to see Martin.”
Roxy looked furious.
“What the hell did you do that for?” she screamed, “he’s a bloody murderer.”
“He’s my friend. He’s our friend and he still can’t remember anything about that night.”
“What did the police want, apart from breaking our bathroom cabinet?”
“That’s the strangest thing,” Frank said, “They searched our bins and took away what was left of the Pavlova we had.”
Roxy finished her glass of wine in one go.
“They did what?” she exclaimed.
“They seemed very interested in the Pavlova.”
“Shit, I laced it.”
“You did what?”
“When I saw they’d brought Penny, I crushed some of my sleeping tablets into the cream inside.”
“What the hell did you do that for?”
“To get them to leave early, I obviously didn’t put enough in. What if they find it?”
“They will find it; I can’t believe you could be so stupid.”
“I’m not the one who’s made friends with most of the bloody York police department.”
“You’ll have to tell them what you did.”
“Oh that’ll sound just perfect won’t it? I’m sorry officers but I accidentally drugged three people who just happened to end up in a vicious attack later.”
“They will find traces of the drug,” Paxton insisted, “they’re not stupid. It’ll be better for you if you approach them first; you need to put yourself in the clear. I gave them a DNA sample yesterday too.”
“This just gets better and better, what did you do that for?”
“I’m not sure. I think they need it to rule me out of any involvement.”
“You idiot, I think you’ve just ruled yourself very much in.”
“You’re not making any sense.”
“The babysitter who died.”
“Lauren something or other?”
“She was pregnant.”
It was now Frank Paxton’s turn to finish the rest of his wine.
“Oh my god,” he said, “they think I’m the father of the baby.”
“You are the bloody father,” Roxy poured more wine, “Do you think I’m stupid?”
“How long have you known?” Frank asked.
“I saw you,” Roxy began, “If you’re going to conduct a proper affair, at least have the brains to be discreet about it. I saw you with her in the town centre.”
“Oh Jesus,” Frank said and topped up his own wine.
“I spoke to one of her friends,” Roxy said, “and she confirmed what I thought. How long had you been sleeping with her?”
“Only once or twice,” Frank replied, “I realised that being unfaithful was not for me. I’d actually ended it. What are we going to do?”
“We’re not going to do anything, the police are going to find out that this woman was carrying your baby, I’m going to play the part of the wronged girlfriend and we’re going to wait it out.”
“What about the evidence?”
“What evidence? Just because you couldn’t keep your dick in your pants it doesn’t make you a murderer and lacing a bloody Pavlova with sleeping pills doesn’t make me one either. Now pour me some more wine. This is going to be a bloody marvellous New Year.”