The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  ‘Every day.’

  ‘What would happen if she didn’t take it?’

  Mr Poole did not answer immediately, and then spoke with a sullen voice. ‘The chance of a seizure increases.’

  ‘Could you describe her seizures for me, please?’

  ‘Amy hasn’t suffered from one in quite some time, thankfully, but without her AEDs the risk increases and she could quickly become disorientated… or have a full on attack.’

  ‘When was her last seizure?’

  ‘When she was fifteen. She has been on gabapentin ever since.’

  ‘Gabapentin, her medication?’

  ‘Yes.’

  Deans scribbled the name in his daybook. He would worry about the spelling later.

  ‘Has she ever missed taking them before?’

  ‘When she was younger, yes.’

  ‘And what happened?’

  ‘Nothing too untoward, thankfully. But we intervened.’

  ‘So, if she’s missed a few now, there’s a possibility she would be okay?’

  ‘Well, yes, that’s a possibility. But the longer she goes without her AEDs, the higher the risk of an event.’

  Deans noticed he had underlined the word gabapentin in his daybook so much that he was almost through the paper. ‘Mr Poole, when did you or your wife last have contact with Amy?’

  ‘We left her at the house on Saturday morning. My wife spoke to Amy on Saturday afternoon and was going to call again later tonight. We’re still in Gloucester, you see.’

  ‘So… you haven’t been home since Saturday?’

  ‘No.’

  ‘Okay,’ Deans said, formulating a scenario in his head. ‘I tried the landline, but couldn’t get a reply. That doesn’t necessarily mean Amy was not there, but I’ll contact my colleagues in Devon and request an urgent send-to.’

  ‘Meaning?’

  ‘Sorry. A local police officer will attend your home address to see if they can get a reply. It’s possible they’ll need to force an entry, unless there are spare keys with someone?’

  ‘Yes. Derek next door – Williamson. Number eleven.’

  ‘I’ll contact my Devon colleagues as soon as I’m free from this call and I’ll let you know the moment I hear an update.’

  ‘Right, make sure you do. Your name. Give me your name again?’

  ‘DC Andrew Deans, sir. Falcon Road CID, in Bath.’

  At the end of the call, Deans sank his head into his hands and then realised that nobody in the office was talking. He looked up through his fingers and saw everyone gazing back at him.

  Chapter 5

  Deans spent the next hour and a half attempting to make contact with the informant, Jessica Morrison, and Amy’s boyfriend, Carl Groves. He did not chat with anyone else in the office and he did not intercept any other phone calls. Completely focused, he felt the need to remedy his earlier error. He had immediately contacted comms following the call to the Pooles, requesting an officer check the home address. His money was on them finding Amy unconscious on the floor somewhere at home, but now it was out of his hands and he would just have to be patient and wait for Devon to do their thing. He was realistic though, and did not expect an answer for a good few hours.

  He gnawed at his nails as he watched the phone. He had put in eight calls; one each to Morrison and Groves, every half an hour. The incessant chatter of his colleagues was making him increasingly agitated and he was going to snap eventually, and so he took a tactical time out and wandered through the nearby streets of the Southgate shopping development.

  The voice of Mrs Poole played over in his head, and the bustling shoppers around him faded to smudges.

  His phone vibrated in his trouser pocket. It was a text from Daisy Harper telling him there had been a phone call.

  He sprang up the two-storey flight of stairs, and found Harper sitting at her computer.

  ‘Who was it Dais?’ Deans asked.

  ‘Some girl.’ Harper shrugged. ‘Details are on your desk. Are you getting the brews in?’

  Deans did not answer and soon he was speaking with Jessica Morrison. They arranged to meet at her house at five p.m., but Deans refused to discuss any more over the phone. Once bitten, as the saying goes.

  His partner for the day was DC Damien Mitchell – one of those people who delight in sharing their personal life, especially sexual activities – grunts and all – in vigorous detail with anyone willing to listen. He could be extremely amusing with his anecdotes but there was a time and a place and Mitchell did not seem to worry about either. He possessed natural investigative flare and would no doubt ascend the rungs of rank in time. If anything were to hold him back, it would likely be a combination of his age, inexperience and having the hormone levels of a rampant rhinoceros.

  Deans filled Mitchell in with the job details as they drove to the address, a mid-terraced Victorian house in the student quarter of town. A short concrete pathway bisected a small, wildly overgrown garden that had maybe once passed as a lawn.

  A pretty girl in her early twenties opened the front door. She had a pensive but friendly smile. Deans focussed immediately on her vibrant, asymmetrical, red-dyed hair, and then noticed the shiny metal stud in her top lip and a small black spike protruding out of her right nostril.

  ‘Jessica?’ he asked.

  ‘Jess.’ She nodded. ‘Come in please.’

  They followed her inside, through a poky hallway to a kitchen area at the rear of the property that was surprisingly clear of clutter, for a student home.

  Deans offered his right hand. ‘I’m DC Andy Deans. I spoke to you on the phone. And this is—’

  ‘Hi, I’m Mitch,’ DC Mitchell interjected with a broad smile.

  Jess invited them to sit around the kitchen table but she remained standing.

  ‘Thanks for seeing us,’ Deans said. ‘Do you know why we’re here?’

  ‘Amy?’ she replied, softly.

  Deans nodded and gave a consoling smile. ‘When did you last see Amy?’

  Jess pushed back a pile of unfolded clothing that smelt recently washed and leant back against the edge of the worktop.

  ‘Last Friday. At the uni car park.’

  ‘Do you know what time?’ Deans asked.

  ‘About three thirty, I think. I had just finished. So yes, it was around three thirty.’

  ‘Thank you, Jess,’ Deans encouraged. ‘What was Amy doing when you last saw her?’

  ‘She was with Carl. They must’ve been heading off to his car.’

  ‘Boyfriend, Carl?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘How do you know it was to his car?’ Deans asked.

  ‘Because it was my turn to drive us in that week. So she would have taken a lift back with him, or jumped on the bus, because she didn’t come back with me.’

  ‘What car does Carl have?’ Mitchell asked. He was finally concentrating on something else other than the pile of skimpy underwear next to Jessica’s left hand.

  ‘I don’t know the make but it’s an orange colour with a black bonnet.’

  ‘What time in the morning did you and Amy arrive at uni?’ Deans asked.

  ‘Around nine. We usually get there around that time.’

  ‘Does Amy drive a car?’

  ‘Yes.’ Jessica half-smiled. ‘A really cute VW Beetle.’

  Deans was taking notes in his daybook. ‘What colour?’

  ‘Yellow. Bright yellow, with large white flower stickers.’

  ‘Do you happen to know the registration number?’

  ‘No. Sorry.’ She hesitated. ‘But I know it starts WK because we nickname it “wicked bug”.’ She tittered and looked away.

  ‘Thank you, Jess. Go on, what did you and Amy talk about on the way to uni on Friday?’

  ‘The usual kind of stuff really. She was heading down to see her parents for the weekend again.’

  ‘Her family in Devon?’ Deans asked, noticing Mitchell straining his neck to view a framed photo on the wall of three tanned and bikini-cla
d girls. ‘Why did you feel the need to report her missing if you knew she was at her parents’ house?’

  ‘She was due back by Sunday evening. We both had job interviews in town. And she was supposed to be driving us to uni this week.’

  Deans shook his head. ‘Ever done this before?’

  ‘No. Never.’ Her face was anxious. ‘It’s so unlike Amy. She’s the most reliable person I know.’

  There was a moment of silence.

  Jess looked down at her feet. ‘Do you know where Amy is?’ She suddenly appeared vulnerable and fragile.

  There were a couple of ways Deans could answer the question: give the corporate spiel or be blunt.

  ‘I’m going to be honest, Jess. I have no idea. That is why we are here. I’m leading the investigation and I need to piece together as much information as I can. You may know more than you realise, but that’s down to me to work out.’

  Jess gently bobbed her head, still staring at her bare feet.

  ‘Have you spoken to anyone else about this since last week?’

  ‘Sarah and Billie and Carl,’ she replied.

  ‘Carl, Amy’s boyfriend?’

  Jess nodded.

  ‘Who are Sarah and Billie?’ Mitchell asked.

  ‘They live with us here. We all go to uni together.’

  ‘Where are they now?’ Mitchell continued.

  ‘Sarah doesn’t stay here much. She has the smallest room so stays with her boyfriend most of the time and Billie broke her leg last week and has gone back home with her parents. I don’t know when she’s coming back.’

  ‘You didn’t contact Amy’s parents?’ Deans asked, but he already knew the answer.

  ‘No,’ she hesitated. ‘I don’t have their number.’ She caught Deans’ eye briefly, then looked away again.

  ‘Who’s in this photo?’ Mitchell asked, using the excuse to peer closer at the bikinied trio.

  ‘Me, Billie and Ames,’ Jess replied without looking at the photograph.

  Deans turned to face the picture. He recognised Jess standing in the middle of the other two girls, although her hair was darker in the picture. There was another dark-haired female – Billie presumably, because Amy was reported to be blonde, and the only blonde-haired person in this photo was much taller and completely reigned over the others. However, it was not just her stature. Even from this picture, Deans could tell she was… exceptional.

  ‘We may need to take this,’ Mitchell suggested.

  ‘We may not have to,’ Deans countered and forced himself to break away from the photograph. He looked over at Mitchell and flashed him a look. ‘If there’s another recent photo of Amy, as she looks now, that’ll be just fine.’

  ‘Sure. I’ve loads of photos upstairs from a couple of weeks ago.’

  As Jess left the kitchen, Deans shook his head at Mitchell.

  ‘I mean, come on, Deano?’ Mitchell grinned.

  There was no denying it. Amy was an extraordinary looking girl, but Deans figured that made the disappearance a whole lot more significant.

  Jess returned from upstairs and handed Deans a five-by-seven close-up of Amy’s face. She had a wide smile of beautiful white teeth and the most incredible blue eyes that sucked him deeper into the picture.

  ‘Tell me about Carl,’ Deans said, still studying the photo.

  ‘He’s nice, I suppose. Pretty fit if you know what I mean. Not my type, but definitely Ames’. She seems to attract the sporty ones.’

  ‘How long have they been together?’

  ‘A year, I guess, kind of properly.’

  ‘Did you see him after last Friday at the car park?’

  ‘No. But I called him on Monday when Ames didn’t come home.’

  ‘What did he say?’

  ‘Um, he hadn’t seen her all weekend, and didn’t know where she was either.’

  ‘Did you think there was anything strange about that?’

  ‘Not really.’ She paused. ‘Well, a bit, I guess.’

  ‘How so?’

  ‘Because Carl’s always with Ames. It’s like he’s her shadow or something.’

  ‘Do you speak to Carl much?’ Deans asked.

  She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Sometimes. We’re kind of mates because of Ames. We’re friends on Facebook.’

  ‘Is he hard to get hold of, on the phone?’ Deans asked.

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Deans nodded and jotted a note in his daybook, and then asked if he could look around the house and at Amy’s room in particular. Jess was happy to accommodate and offered them a cup of tea. Mitchell accepted. Deans asked for coffee.

  Amy’s room was typical of a young female student. Deans scanned the room taking in the detail: a double bed below the window with newish-looking unmade sheets, a wooden bedside table, a recessed area on the far wall stacked with trendy clothes hanging from a metal rod, and a desk with a laptop plugged into the wall socket. A large poster of a girl surfing a ridiculous-sized wave dominated the wall to his left. Beneath the poster, piles of clothing, magazines, textbooks and shoes covered the floor space. From his cursory scan, there were no obvious messages or suicide notes, and nothing out of the ordinary to indicate that this was anything other than a normal student’s bedroom.

  Deans opted to take the laptop and a diary that was on the desktop. It was better to secure potential evidence now rather than have to come back at some point in the future. If she returned, she could simply have them back.

  On the bedside cabinet, he noticed a phone charger without the phone.

  ‘Does Amy have an iPhone?’

  ‘Yes.’

  ‘Any other phones?’

  ‘No, I don’t think so.’

  Not a good sign.

  ‘Would you happen to know if Amy is into anything, drug-wise?’

  ‘No. She hardly even drinks.’

  ‘Does she have any debts; does she owe money to anyone?’

  Jess shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Amy always has money.’

  Deans was satisfied that he could do no more at this time, but had developed a throbbing pain in his head. He left Jess with a business card and thanked her for her help. Mitchell winked and left her with a ‘See you later.’

  Chapter 6

  Back at the station, Deans booked his exhibits onto the detained property registry, and there was still no contact from Carl Groves. Deans’ suspicion was becoming increasingly piqued the longer time went by.

  Deans’ sergeant, DS Michael Savage beckoned him into the empty DI’s office, pointed to a chair pushed up against the wall, and took the inspector’s chair for himself.

  ‘Fill me in, Deano,’ he said.

  ‘Still early days, Mick. We just got back from speaking with Jessica Morrison. She doesn’t have much to offer, she’s pretty spaced out by this whole thing. I really need to speak to Carl Groves, but he’s proving elusive.’

  ‘Why do you suppose that is?’

  ‘That’s what I’d like to know. I tested Jessica. She said he wasn’t hard to get hold of.’

  ‘What are you thinking, Deano?’

  ‘I’m not happy, Mick, to be honest. I’m playing catch-up and having to find out things that should already be known. Did you know the MISPER is epileptic?’

  ‘No. Christ that could change things.’

  ‘Tell me about it. I had to find out from her old man while he was giving me earache.’

  ‘I’m sorry, Deano. Boylie gave me an update before he went off-duty. Thanks for taking this on. I know you have plenty of other real crime to be getting on with, just make sure you don’t sacrifice your existing workload for this crock of shite. Do enough to keep the bosses at bay, and then sack it off back to Devon and Cornwall. Let it become their headache. Anyway, I’m sure at some point she’ll materialise.’

  ‘Honestly, Mick? I just can’t see this being that straightforward. The more I hear, the more concerned I’m getting. She’s already been missing four days.’

  Savage sank int
o his seat. ‘Well, what do we know, Deano?’

  ‘Not much.’ Deans shrugged. ‘Mum and Dad left her on Saturday, and it appears no one’s seen her since.’

  ‘What about her addresses?’

  ‘I’ve requested an urgent send-to in Devon, but haven’t heard back yet. Her bedroom in Bath is typical of her profile. I checked it out for signs of an extended absence but there was nothing. If anything, it is more indicative of unusual behaviour. I seized a laptop and a diary from her room, but only to cover all bases.’

  ‘Good,’ Savage replied. ‘The laptop will just have to sit in DPR for now. There is no way we will get authority to examine that. This is only a MISPER enquiry after all.’

  Deans had been here many times before. He knew the score.

  ‘Update the log with everything you’ve done, Deano, and consider contacting her GP if you think we need to know more about her epilepsy.’

  ‘Her old man played it down mostly. I got the impression her condition is generally well controlled, but she’s on daily meds, if she has them with her.’

  ‘Document everything he said to you. Make sure you cover your arse.’

  Deans nodded.

  ‘If you need help with anything else, grab Mitch or Harps. Have you got a photo of the MISPER?’

  Deans rooted around in his file and handed Savage the photograph Jessica had given him earlier.

  ‘My God!’ Savage said.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Wow.’

  That reaction said it all. So far, every bloke that had seen her picture had responded similarly. It made Deans think about one of his favourite films, There’s Something About Mary. Perhaps, he wondered, there was something about Amy.

  They decided to use the photograph for a local press release, to be mirrored in North Devon. They agreed that if she had been sighted, she would be remembered. A low-key message would suffice for now – Amy Poole, 20-year-old student. Missing since Saturday the 4th of October. Any information regarding her whereabouts to Falcon Road CID on 101 or anonymously via Crimestoppers.

  Deans returned to his desk and cleared away an open space. He slugged a large mouthful of cold coffee and placed a blank sheet of white A3 paper on the desktop. He drew a straight black horizontal line across the entire width of the page and stared at the middle, and wondered how far along they were, and then considered whether he would need more sheets before the end of the investigation. It was the makings of an investigative timeline.