After twenty more minutes of awkward silence, the rear door opened and a pretty, young woman full of verve and smiles entered the room. Deans sat up straight and adjusted his tie. She noticed him and smiled pleasantly back. Deans was about to ask if she was Denise when another woman walked in behind her. Denise Moon, he presumed.
She was not as he had expected. In her late forties, with long dark hair, pale skin and a friendly, almost familiar face. Although she was still quite young, she was mumsy at the same time.
The smiling woman paid with a card and left the shop, announcing that she would return next week. Deans looked over to the man, expecting him to relay his message, but instead he said nothing and remained seated behind the counter. Needing to take the initiative once again, Deans stood up.
‘Hello,’ he said, ‘Denise Moon?’
‘Yes. Hello. How may I help you?’ She was holding out her hand to shake. Deans noticed that she had near-flawless skin. She was naturally attractive with large, brown intelligent eyes. A black, sparkly stone around her neck on a long slender chain caught his eye, and he wondered what it was. He could only imagine how much it would cost going by the prices of the other pebbles on display.
‘Hello,’ he said again, taking her outstretched hand. ‘I’m Detective Constable Andrew Deans. I was wondering if I could trouble you for a short while. You may be able to help me with an investigation I’m conducting.’
She had a look of surprise. ‘Yes, of course.’ She turned to the man behind the counter. ‘How’s the diary looking, Ash?’
‘Next appointment in fifteen minutes,’ he replied, without taking his eyes away from Deans.
Denise smiled warmly and welcomed Deans through to the back. He followed her into a low-arched hallway and through to a room similar in appearance to a spa salon. There was a treatment bed in the centre, leather seating was against one wall and peaceful music playing in the background.
‘I do hope you haven’t been waiting long, Detective?’ she asked. ‘I’m afraid Ash can be a little protective of my schedule.’
‘No, no, not at all,’ he lied again and she gave him a knowing smile. ‘Please, call me Andy,’ he said.
‘How may I be of assistance to you?’
‘Do you know a Miss Amy Poole?’
‘Yes, I do,’ Denise replied without hesitation. ‘She is a wonderful girl and extremely bright. I have been helping her with some work. She’s interested in the power of mediumship.’
Ms Moon was clearly skilled in non-verbal communication and subtly encouraged Deans to expand.
‘I’m afraid Amy is missing,’ he reciprocated.
She half-stepped backwards and covered her mouth. ‘Oh my God! Since when?’
‘Saturday last week. I am trying to trace her movements to establish where she may be or whom she may be with. I found a diary with what I believe to be your initials beside certain dates and I’d just like to check these out and ask you about Amy.’
‘Yes, of course. Poor Amy.’ She waved towards the sofa. ‘Her family must be beside themselves. Yes, of course, I’ll help you all I can.’
‘Thank you. When did you last see Amy?’
‘Would you excuse me a moment while I get the diary from outside? I know it was sometime within the last few weeks but I’m not sure when exactly.’
‘Of course.’
As Denise left, Deans studied the room.
She returned carrying a desk diary and started to flick through the pages.
‘Tuesday, three weeks ago,’ she said. ‘That’s right; we had a quick thirty-minute session.’
‘What exactly would you do with Amy?’
‘Well, just talk really. Amy has a very sensitive soul and the potential to develop the gift. We mostly discuss her thesis. And how she can harness the gift to enrich her life. She’s an excellent student and a pleasure to be around.’
‘The gift?’ Deans mirrored.
Denise smiled. ‘How long do you have, Detective? Your fifteen minutes wouldn’t begin to scratch the surface even if I tried to explain.’
Deans liked Denise. He felt comfortable in her presence. Not at all how he thought she would be.
‘Would it be possible to have a list of the dates and times you met with Amy please? It might be beneficial for me to piece together her movements over a period of time,’ he said.
‘Of course. I can’t let you have the book for client confidentiality reasons, but I can jot down the relevant details for you, if that would be okay?’
‘Thank you.’
‘I’ve only been seeing Amy for a few months, so it shouldn’t take long.’
Denise swivelled in her chair and started to write on a sheet of headed paper. Deans politely waited. A provocative question kept rebounding inside his head. Would it be rude of him to ask? He did not know. He leant forward, about to speak, then stopped just short of the words coming out.
‘Something you want to ask?’ Denise said without turning around to face him. She was good.
Deans paused before speaking. He did have one vitally private question to ask, but at the same time, he did not want to hear the answer. Instead, his query sounded amateurish.
‘So, do you read people’s future and stuff?’
Denise chuckled. ‘You’re thinking of a clairvoyant. I’m not necessarily a clairvoyant, so I suppose I do “stuff” as you put it. But there is so much more to it.’ She turned back to face him. ‘Perhaps if you have a couple of hours free sometime you could experience some stuff for yourself?’
Deans leaned back. ‘Oh, I’m afraid I’m not local. My patch is in Somerset.’ He noticed Denise had a quizzical expression. ‘Amy’s reported missing from Bath.’
Denise shook her head. ‘It’s such a shock. What a dreadful, dreadful shock.’
She held out a sheet of paper, which Deans took with thanks.
‘It’s been a pleasure to meet you, Detective. I’m pleased Amy is in good hands.’
Deans wafted the compliment aside. ‘Thank you for your help. It was very nice to meet you too.’ He removed a business card from his wallet and handed it to Denise. ‘Would you call me if you hear anything from Amy?’
‘Without question,’ she said and placed the business card onto her treatment couch.
Deans led the way back to the shop entrance. Ash was still behind the counter. Deans exchanged a handshake with Denise, nodded to Ash and went on his way to his next task.
A ten-minute stroll later, he found the police station at a picturesque setting overlooking the old town bridge and estuary. The entrance was locked and the front office in darkness. A laminated notice to the public was stuck to the inside of the glass informing them of front office closures and restrictions to opening hours, effective from nine months ago. Cost cutting, Deans thought. The same thing had happened in Bath.
A uniformed officer emerged from the side of the building, and Deans jogged over to her before she stepped into a marked vehicle.
‘Hi,’ Deans said, catching his breath. ‘I’m DC Deans from CID in Bath. Would you know if there are any DCs around I can chat to please?’
‘They’ve already gone,’ she said opening the door hurriedly, her Airwave radio chattering nonstop on the front of her body armour. ‘Try tomorrow. Early turn.’
Deans checked his watch; it was nudging five.
‘How do I get in?’ Deans asked before she slammed the door closed.
‘Front office opens at nine,’ she shouted through the glass, turning over the engine and hitting the 999 button on the emergency equipment display panel.
‘Thanks,’ he shouted with a wave, but she was already on her way.
He was now at an impasse. He looked at his watch again, through his gritty, strobe-blinded eyes. He only had two options: drive back home to return in the early hours of the morning, or find somewhere to stay the night. Tomorrow was looking like another long day.
A call to Savage and then home to his wife confirmed that he was staying the night in De
von, and soon he was driving around the area looking for a B&B to throw onto job expenses.
He discovered a small car park set on a hillside overlooking a vast bay. The Atlantic Ocean was pounding into a long ridge of grey rocks way off to his right. He watched, captivated, as growling waves glided gracefully across his path before smashing into wispy white plumes on the shore. The repetitive sequence was sleep inducing. Womblike. It was the first time that day he allowed his mind to rest.
He blinked away his lethargy and focused on a cluster of small black dots in the distant water. Surfers.
The creases of his face softened as the image evoked memories of holidays with Maria, lounging on a beach and messing about in the sea. Those were the days, he thought.
Chapter 12
It had been a reasonably comfortable night’s sleep and Deans woke early. The sun was yet to rise fully but he was feeling increasingly claustrophobic in the poky B&B bedroom he had occupied since about eight thirty the night before. Breakfast was not for another hour and a half, and so he decided to head back to the small car park overlooking the bay to make the most of whatever peaceful opportunity he had.
This time, the tide had retreated, exposing a large bed of glassy, golden sand and a bank of jagged black rock beneath him. It was a calm morning. The rising sun over the hills had transformed the gossamer clouds into a bed of fire, and aircraft jet-wash left silvery traces against the pure cyan sky high above. Everything he saw was in stark contrast to the mornings he encountered back home, and he liked it.
After breakfast, he settled the bill and tucked the receipt away in a special flap of his wallet kept aside for expenses. He would have to go through a rigmarole of paperwork when he returned to the office to reclaim his costs. Sometimes he felt it was hardly worth the hassle – maybe that was the idea.
He set off and made his way to the police station once again, arriving just after nine. He met up with the two duty detectives: Ranford and Mansfield. It was not the friendliest of welcomes, but it was a start. He established CCTV was well covered in the area and some had automatic number plate recognition – ANPR capability. Ranford provided him with Intel on Scott Parsons, and they agreed to keep in contact through the day.
Deans drove the short distance to Fore Street and found Scott’s address with little effort. A tatty brown VW Transporter adorned with surfer graffiti was parked nearby and he wondered if this belonged to Scott. To be fair though, Deans had never seen so many camper vans as over the past twenty-four hours.
If the Intel was correct, the last time the police had anything to do with Scott he was unemployed and so Deans was hopeful of a response.
He did not have long to wait before the door was opened by a man in his early twenties, wearing baggy shorts and a hoody top. He was more overweight than Deans had expected, but the photograph he had seen next to Amy’s bed was a good few years old.
‘Scott?’ Deans asked.
The man studied Deans’ suit, then yelled back into the house, ‘Scotty, the Feds are here for you.’ He turned away, leaving Deans outside the open door.
‘What are you going on about, you knob-head?’ Deans heard from the first floor, and watched as a man bounded down the stairs, two steps at a time.
‘What is it?’ he queried again before noticing Deans standing at the door. ‘Oh, all right, mate? Did you want me?’
He was only wearing baggy shorts. He was lithe, muscular and heavily tattooed. There was no mistaking; this was Scott.
‘I’m DC Deans. Can I come in for a private chat, please?’
Scott pulled a face and looked like he was about to debate the question.
‘Scott, it’s important, and I’d rather we chatted inside than on the doorstep.’
‘Hold on,’ Scott said and closed the door three-quarters of the way, leaving Deans once again standing alone.
He returned a few moments later and nodded Deans inside. Scott led the way through to the kitchen. He walked with short, stabbing steps as if he was walking on broken glass. Deans imagined that was from years of negotiating hot sand and stones to get to the surf.
Deans entered the kitchen, looked at the clutter and made an early decision not to accept any drinks, if offered.
‘Scott, I understand that you are Amy Poole’s ex-partner and you are still good friends?’
‘Yeah, me and Ames is tight, man.’ He screwed his face. ‘What’s this all about?’
‘Amy is missing.’
Scott lurched forward. ‘What? Where is she? Is she all right?’
‘That’s what I need to find out, Scott.’
‘What do you mean?’ Scott’s voice was getting louder. ‘Where is she?’
‘Missing.’
‘Missing? How, when?’ Scott asked impatiently.
‘That’s exactly what I’m trying to find out.’ Deans employed a calm voice. The last thing he needed was to be isolated in an unfamiliar house, in a town he did not know, with an over-excited man half his age, built like the proverbial shithouse.
‘When did you last see her, Scotty?’
‘Saturday night.’
‘Where?’
‘Joe’s’
‘Joe’s?’ Deans mirrored.
‘Jumping Joe’s.’
Deans shrugged and shook his head.
‘In town, mate. It’s our usual hangout.’
‘Is it a club?’
‘Yeah, well, more of a late-night bar than a club. Ames doesn’t do clubs.’
‘Why not?’
‘The lights affect her head.’
‘You know about her condition?’
‘Course I do.’
‘Do you know if she had her medication with her on Saturday night?’
Scotty shrugged and shook his head. ‘No idea.’
‘What time did you last see Amy?’
Scott shrugged again. ‘Maybe about one, something like that.’
His eyes were wide, he was leaning back and holding the underside of the worktop as if to let go would cause him to fall. Reminiscent of Jessica.
‘Who else was with you?’
‘Jacko, Gemma and Soph.’
‘Did anyone leave with Amy?’
‘No,’ he replied softly. ‘She went home and we all stayed at Joe’s.’
‘Did you see where she went after leaving the club?’
Scott scratched at his ribs with a scraping noise.
‘I think she went to the rank.’
‘Scott, have you had any contact from Amy since Saturday night?’
His head dropped. ‘No,’ he said softly. ‘She was heading back to uni, so that was it until the next time.’
‘Can you remember what Amy was wearing on Saturday night?’
Scott puffed out his cheeks. ‘Uh… a white and green O’Neil top, and probably jeans or a skirt, or something like that.’
Deans made a note in his book and gave Scott a moment or two without questions.
Scott then spoke with urgency, ‘Have you been to her house? I can take you there.’
‘There’s no need thanks, Scott. I’ve already been there.’
‘Oh my God! Janet and Ian.’ Scott gripped the sides of his head, elongating his eyes. Clearly, this man genuinely cared not only for Amy, but also for the entire family.
‘Scott, I need to you sit down with me, please,’ Deans said, trying to deflate the ever-growing emotion spilling out from the lad. ‘It’s possible that you were the last person to see Amy…’ He fell short of the word he felt compelled to say. He was so used to dealing with more serious cases that he temporarily forgot that Amy was still just a simple MISPER.
‘What, alive?’ Scott said, his face full of horror.
‘No, I’m not saying that. Look, to the best of my knowledge you were the last person to see Amy.’
Deans observed Scott wiping his face and saw a glistening bead stream down his left cheek.
‘I tell you what, Scotty,’ Deans said gently, ‘you’re my best chance at the moment
of getting a clearer picture of what happened on Saturday night. I think I will need a statement, but right now isn’t the best time. You have a lot to take in. Could you meet me in a few hours at the station?’
‘What, the police station? Are you going to nick me?’
Deans raised his hands. ‘No. I promise. I need you focused that’s all. We can find a quiet room. I need to know everything that happened on Saturday night, no matter how insignificant you may think it is. Can we do that?’
Scott nodded. ‘Yeah, yeah, of course.’
‘Okay, good. Bring any phones or cameras you may have had with you on Saturday night in case we need to look through them, all right?’
‘Yeah, thanks, man,’ Scott said, wiping his running nose with the top of his left forearm.
Deans headed for the front door. ‘And do me a favour as well, Scotty?’
Scott nodded.
‘Leave the weed at home, mate, we don’t need that causing unnecessary complications at the nick, okay?’
Scott turned away.
‘It’s in the air. Don’t put me in a position I can’t get out of. See you later.’
Chapter 13
The thrill of excitement was overwhelming, as he extracted box number 9 from the shelf. There was no one else around, but he still checked furtively behind. His cheeks glowed and he could feel a pulse in his neck as he gently held a leather-bound album, removed from the box, in both hands.
He was sitting perfectly still, and opened the album cover, slowly turning the pages to his latest creation. He drew sharp breath and his eyes rolled behind their lids. Pleasure oozed through him like a narcotic hit.
She was a beautiful girl and the images brought the moments they had experienced together back to life. He turned the page excitedly. Another sequence of photographs accelerated his breathing.
His smile narrowed as his thoughts took him back several weeks. She was the kind of girl who would never know suffering. Always be accepted. Always be popular. Never have to fight to be noticed. Never be constantly compared and judged. Not any more, he thought, the little slut deserved everything she got.
The Detective Deans Mystery Collection Page 7
