THIRTY TWO
HANGOVER
Jason Smith was having the dream again. It had been a few days since the last one. This time it was slightly different; he was underwater and he could just make out his sister a short distance away. He called out to her but the sound was muted by the water. He swam over and took her hand. She smiled at him and they swam to the surface together. As they broke the surface, Laura had disappeared again.
He woke up with sweat covering his whole body. He sat up in bed and took a deep breath. There was a woman lying next to him.
“Shit!” he said much louder than he intended to.
Erica Whitton woke up with a start.
“Are you alright?” she said. She rubbed her eyes, “you’re covered in sweat.”
“Whitton,” Smith said sheepishly, “what are you doing here? We didn’t…”
“No we didn’t,” she interrupted him. “We didn’t,” she repeated, “you were just in a bit of a state last night that’s all.”
“I can’t remember coming home.” He held his head in his hands, “I feel like crap, did I embarrass myself at the club?”
“You played beautifully but just after midnight you became slightly, what’s the word? Pissed, that’s it. You insisted we go to another club.”
“Oh Christ,” he said, “My head hurts like hell. I didn’t cause any trouble did I?”
“You picked a fight with a bouncer.”
“I hate bouncers; they think they’re a law unto themselves.”
“Well this one was quite well behaved. He threatened to call the Police if you didn’t leave.”
“What did I do?”
“When you told him you were the Police and you were going to arrest him for being in possession of an offensive face, I pulled you out of there and called a taxi.”
“Thanks Whitton,” Smith said, “why are you in my bed?”
“When we got back here you got all sentimental and said you wanted to talk. You told me about your sister and how she disappeared. I think that guy last night brought up some pretty nasty memories. You asked me to stay with you; you didn’t want to be alone. Oh, and you cried.”
“I did not bloody cry.”
“You did, you cried. You told me to never leave you and you cried.”
“Do you want some coffee?” Smith changed the subject, “I need some and if you tell anybody I cried your life won’t be worth living ok?”
“Understood sir,” Whitton smiled, “coffee would be great.”
As Smith made coffee, he thought about the dream. Why was it different?
“Whitton,” he called up the stairs.
“I’m in the bathroom,” she replied, “I’ll be down in a minute.”
Smith put the two cups of coffee on the table in the kitchen. Whitton came in and sat down.
“Whitton,” Smith said, “that guy who sat by you in the Blues club last night.”
“Mister White,” she replied, “I see your memory is coming back.”
“What did he say about my sister?”
“That she is still alive.”
“What did he mean by that?”
“That’s all he said. Tell Jason his sister is not dead. I gave you his card. He seemed keen to talk to you.”
“What did I do with the card?”
“You put it in your pocket I think.”
Smith checked his pockets.
“It’s not here,” he said, “Damn. I wonder what he wanted to talk about. This doesn’t make sense.”
“Maybe you left it at the Blues Club.”
“Good thinking, I need to collect my guitar later. I’ll see if I dropped it. Good God, my head hurts, I need to go and fetch Theakston too. Happy New year by the way Whitton, I don’t know if I wished you last night.”
“Many times,” Whitton laughed, “I’ll tell you what, I’ll drive you to the Blues Club and then we’ll go to the Hog’s Head. A Steak and Ale pie will sort you out.”
“Smith smiled. “Thanks Whitton,” he said, “I don’t know what I’d do without you.”
The Deep Blues Club was locked up when Smith and Whitton got there. Smith took out his phone and dialled Mad Dog’s number. He noticed he had had a missed call at one that morning. On the third or fourth ring the door of the club opened and Mad Dog stood there, phone in hand. He was dressed in just his underpants and a T shirt.
“Jason,” Mad Dog said, “It’s always nice to see you but it’s a bit bloody early isn’t it?”
“Its lunch time mate,” Smith said, “I need to fetch the Fender and I think I might have dropped something in here last night.”
“You were unbelievable last night,” Mad Dog said, “you were really in the vibe. Come in.
He smiled at Whitton.
Inside the club, Smith went straight to where he was sitting the night before.
“Did anyone sit here after we left?”
“Of course,” Mad Dog replied, “this place was pumping until after five.” He looked at the clock on the wall. “That was approximately seven hours ago.”
Smith spotted something under one of the table legs. He bent down and picked the card up; it had been used to stop the table from wobbling. He unfolded the card.
“Got it Whitton,” he said, “White and White exporting. Let’s go, my stomach is making strange noises.”
Smith picked up his guitar, put it in the case and locked it.
“Thanks Mad Dog,” he said, “get some sleep. You look worse than I feel.”
As they drove to the Hog’s Head Smith took out his phone to see who had phoned him early that morning.
“This is interesting Whitton,” he said, “Frank Paxton phoned me at one this morning.”
“That was about the time you asked that bouncer for a dance,” Whitton smiled, “did he leave a message.”
“Just checking,” Smith opened up his messages, “yes he did.”
Smith dialled the voice mail retrieval number, put the phone on speaker phone and played the message. Frank Paxton sounded very drunk, his voice was barely audible. Smith played the message twice but there were still parts he could not understand.
“Pull over,” he said, “this sounds intriguing.”
“Sergeant Smith,” Paxton said, “This is Paxton, Frank Paxton. Sorry about the hour but I have a feeling that you never sleep anyway. I need to get something off my chest. You will no doubt find all this out anyway. I am the father of Lauren’s baby. I had a very brief fling with her a while ago. I just want to make it clear that I had nothing to do with the murders and neither did Rox. It might look like it but Rox just did something very stupid…”
He stopped there.
“Play that again,” Whitton said. She sounded excited. “I heard something in the background,” she added, “right at the end. It sounded like a woman’s voice. Maybe Roxy Jones.”
Smith played the message again.
“There!” Whitton said, “Did you hear that? The woman’s voice, what the hell are you doing you idiot?”
“So,” Smith smiled, “Frank Paxton is a real dark horse. The father of Lauren Cowley’s baby. That changes everything but it can wait until I’ve fed this hangover of mine.”
The Hog’s Head was quiet when Smith and Whitton walked in. Marge was sitting by the fire with Theakston on her lap.
“Hi Marge,” Smith said, “I need a large coke and a pie or I think I’m going to pass out. How’s Theakston been?”
“He’s been as good as gold,” Marge smiled, “he’s buggered though, real party animal this one. He stayed up until the last customer had left. I’ll get your order. Can I get you anything love?” She smiled at Whitton. “This Australian suffers from a lack of manners sometimes.”
“Just a glass of water please Marge,” Whitton replied, “I need to get home. I’m still in the same clothes I wore last night.”
Marge had a naughty twinkle in her eyes.
&
nbsp; “It’s about time you two got serious,” she said.
“Marge,” Smith said, “my stomach is busy digesting organs one by one.”
“Ok, ok, it’s on its way.”
“That puppy of yours is getting fat,” Whitton said
She patted Theakston on the head.
Smith laughed.
“I think he’s enjoying the good life in the pub too much,” he said, “When we put this case behind us, I’m going to look after him properly.”
Whitton cast him a doubting look.
“I will,” he insisted
His phone buzzed inside his jacket. He took it out and looked at the screen.
“Crap,” he said, “Work. Shall I ignore it?”
“You never ignore your phone,” Whitton said, “that’s one thing about you.”
Smith answered the phone. From his expression as he listened, Whitton could tell that it was not good news.
“First thing in the morning,” he said and rang off.
“Bad news sir?” Whitton asked.
“How’s your Spanish Whitton?” he said.
“Sir?”
“How’s your Spanish? Pack a bag. I know it’s a bit soon but we’re off on our first holiday together; we’re going to Tenerife.”