The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  Savage opened the briefing. ‘As a result of information received from Deano, Carl Groves was arrested at eighteen fifty-four hours at his home address by PC Bright on suspicion of kidnap. He was compliant throughout but very emotional. He has made no significant comments. He couldn’t, from what I’ve been told, because he was blubbing so much.’

  Everyone else, apart from Deans, laughed.

  Savage continued, ‘People, we have until eighteen fifty-three hours tomorrow to get some kind of result. Deano is OIC and I am Deputy SIO. DI Feather will be the Senior Investigating Officer. He’s aware of the progress but couldn’t be here tonight.’

  Savage turned to Deans. ‘Deano, tell us what we are dealing with, please.’

  Deans took the lead and ran through the case from the start of medium risk MISPER through to the present kidnap investigation. He explained the relationship between Groves and Amy Poole, Groves’ apparent reluctance to open up, the victim’s family status in Devon and her connection to Scott Parsons. He deliberated a beat with the name of Denise Moon on his lips, but decided to play safe and not mention her, even though his contact with her was bugging him like crazy.

  ‘The reason I’ve asked for Groves to be arrested is quite simple really. Two days ago, before I went on my “jolly” to North Devon, he provided me with an account of his final day with Amy. A very convenient and generally believable account, until I saw him on CCTV, on the night of Amy’s disappearance, driving along the quayside in her home village. He failed to tell me he had visited Amy that night, in fact he clearly stated he had never been to her home in Devon.’

  The faces around the room looked positive and concerned all the same.

  Deans carried on. ‘I’d suggest he knows a lot more than he told me, and he has clearly lied. We need to find out why, and what he knows of Amy’s current whereabouts.’

  ‘Nick him for perverting the course of justice,’ Savage suggested. ‘That should concentrate his mind.’

  The heads around the room nodded, as if kidnap was a mere triviality.

  Savage continued, ‘CSI are working on Groves’ wagon as we speak, but given the time, we’re not likely to get any results until tomorrow. Time-wise, Deano, what do you need to be interview-ready? Mitch will be your number two.’ Savage appeared keen to progress.

  Deans looked away, his thoughts turned to Maria waiting for him at home. He shrugged. ‘I don’t know. I have to prepare the CCTV for interview, work on disclosure—’

  ‘Deano, did I mention that Johnson’s the brief?’ Savage said with a dry smile.

  The room groaned in unison. Everyone felt the same about Johnson.

  Deans slapped his hands loudly on the table. ‘In that case, I can’t see this getting off the ground any time this side of midnight. Seriously, Johnson is a joke. He thinks nothing of a two-hour chitchat with the shits for the simple stuff. How long’s he going take for a kidnap?’

  ‘Now, now, Deano. I know you don’t see eye-to-eye with Johnson, but we also can’t afford any unnecessary hold-ups. Are you saying it’ll be the early hours before you can stick it into Groves?’

  Deans nodded, prayed Mick saw it the same. ‘Probably, if it is Johnson. He’ll be the hold-up.’

  Savage stared at his watch. ‘Okay, I’ll speak to the custody sergeant and suggest a lie-down on the grounds that you’ve just returned from Devon and need to get interview-ready. In any event, we have to wait for the forensic results, not to mention that Groves needs his eight hours beauty sleep. Leave it to me,’ Savage said, winking at Deans.

  The others left the room, leaving Deans slumped in his chair. Savage came alongside him. ‘Deano, you look like crap. Tidy up what you can and get home to your wife.’

  At just gone half past midnight, Deans headed off home.

  Chapter 16

  Saturday 11th October. Five forty-five a.m. Seventh and final day on duty.

  Four hours’ rest was not a great starting point for what was going to be another taxing day. Deans dragged his hand across his mouth and stared wearily at Maria’s back as she lay on the other side of the bed. The large tumbler of whisky had seemed like a good idea in the middle of the night. He was less sure now. Even with the liquid sedative, he’d had a rough few hours. Thoughts of the investigation had raved away in his head and the harder he tried to clear his mind to sleep, the more determined the thoughts became. Each time he was close to dropping off, vivid notions lit up his eyelids, as if someone was shining a torch at his face. It had been a hellish night.

  He took a deep breath and rolled his creaky shoulders. His prisoner still had two of his compulsory eight hours’ rest ahead of him before Deans could even think about making him feel uncomfortable.

  Deans gently slid out of bed, doing his best not to disturb Maria, dragged himself to the bathroom and stared at the jaded face peering back at him in the mirror. An OIC can toil, to the verge of exhaustion, but a suspect has human and legal rights. Of course, HR would say each officer should get eleven hours’ rest between shifts as per the working directive. That was all well and good when they had a cushy eight-to-four job and every weekend off. If Deans did not do the work, who else was going to do it for him, the DC fairy?

  He had shuffled his way into the kitchen and was clutching a strong black coffee in the largest mug he could find when Maria walked over to the kettle.

  ‘Morning, babe. I wasn’t expecting you up so early,’ Deans said.

  Maria slammed a mug down on the worktop and turned angrily to face him. ‘For God’s sake, Andy. When will all these hours end?’

  He lowered his head and stared into his mug.

  ‘What happened to our bloody life?’ she foamed. ‘It’s all about your sodding work. What are you going to do if we do have a baby, just expect me to bring it up alone? When will you say no, and start putting me somewhere in your bastard list of priorities?’

  Deans subtly nodded, chewing the inside of his cheek. He glanced up and caught her glare.

  ‘You’d better be around for the scan.’ She stormed out of the kitchen, slamming the door behind her.

  ‘That went well,’ Deans said into his coffee with the sound of her footsteps reverberating around the kitchen as she pounded back up the stairs.

  He did not have the energy to follow, or try to explain why work was currently so demanding. She was perfectly right, of course. He knew the demands of the job were unfair on her and on their family unit, but what other choice did he really have? The reality was there were not enough detectives to handle the workload. For as long as he had been in the office the constabulary had been running on minimal staffing levels and they were all facing the uncertainty of further government cutbacks.

  He was lucky in many respects. His department was small, unlike the Bristol office, but they had the resources to cope. In Bath, it only took a few decent jobs to throw the delicate equilibrium between a work and home-life balance.

  He allowed a cushioning few minutes to elapse before following upstairs. Maria had taken herself to the second bedroom. The door was closed, and the TV booming. Deans thought for a second about going inside, but he could not deal with a further barrage and time was pressing. He opened his wardrobe – there were no ironed shirts. Looked in the wash basket – Maria had not touched his dirties. He emptied his laundry onto the bed, sniffed the armpits, and selected the least offensive option. Ten minutes later, without further conversation with Maria, he quietly left the house for work.

  As always, he was the first into the office. The freakishly fine weather had completely changed. Looking out, cobalt blue and grey clouds were rapidly pushing through on the chilly easterly breeze. Beyond them, a bleak obsidian horizon was heralding further hostilities. This was one day he did not mind being stuck in the office. There was no denying it: this set of shifts had been tough. He did not know exactly, but estimated that he had already worked eighty-plus hours before the start of whatever today had to bring.

  Computer fired up, he began typing Johns
on’s disclosure and imagined he would be on the phone soon enough to pressurise him for the information.

  He can get stuffed, Deans thought. It’s my bloody interview, and it’ll start when I’m good and ready.

  Even so, delays had already eaten heavily into the custody clock, and as it stood, they would be hard pushed not to need a superintendent’s extension of time. The office clock read 7:35 a.m. Deans’ mind slowly processed where the maximum of twelve additional hours would take him up to.

  ‘Maria’s going to love me,’ he muttered beneath his breath.

  Deans’ mobile phone went off in his pocket. He quickly answered, but it was not Maria. It was an unrecognised mobile number.

  ‘Hello,’ he said assertively.

  ‘Good morning, Detective Deans. This is Denise Moon.’

  ‘Good morning, Miss Moon. Or should I say good early morning?’

  ‘Amy’s been found,’ she said without hesitation.

  ‘Oh, fantastic,’ Deans said, throwing himself back into his seat. ‘Where’s she been?’

  ‘I received a message this morning, not fifteen minutes ago. She needs you,’ Denise said.

  ‘I am sorry, Miss Moon. A message from…?’

  ‘Amy.’

  ‘Great. Do you know where she is? I still need to speak with her.’

  ‘I already told you, Detective. Amy is dead.’

  Deans fell limp, flopped his head over the back of the chair, and stared up at the ceiling.

  Denise filled the silence. ‘She was stuck between the here and now and the afterlife.’

  Deans rocked his head from side to side, as Denise continued. ‘She needed to be found and now that she has, she can move on, but she wanted me to help the detective find her killer.’

  ‘Killer?’ Deans finally interjected, standing aggressively from his chair. ‘Just hold on a minute. What are you talking about?’

  ‘You must believe me, Detective. For the sake of Amy.’

  ‘For the sake of Amy, I’m ending this conversation. Thank you for your valuable time, Miss Moon.’ Deans terminated the call before she could say any more.

  ‘Jesus,’ he vented, slamming his phone down onto the desk. ‘Fucking nut-job.’ He reached for his mug, found it drained and stormed off to the canteen for a refill.

  When he returned to the office, others from the team had arrived. He was calmer, and settled back to the job in hand: Johnson’s disclosure. It was going to be brief. After all, the details were sketchy and the evidence against Groves was limited, at best.

  Forty-five minutes later, Deans was with Mitchell in the quiet of the conference room preparing for the interview. His mobile phone rang again. It was Savage.

  ‘Two things, Deano: A, the brief is already giving custody earache about an ETA for interview and B, there’s a message on your desk from Devon.’

  ‘Okay. Thanks,’ Deans replied wearily. ‘We’ll be back in the office soon.’ As it was, he felt no urgency to dance to the beat of Johnson or Denise Moon.

  It was 10:35 a.m. when Deans was back at his desk.

  Savage joined him. ‘I’ve given custody a heads-up of eleven.’ Meaning Deans had twenty-five minutes before he had to dive down to the depths of the custody suite. He picked up a scrawled note from the table.

  ‘Who took this message?’ he asked, his irritation obvious.

  ‘I did,’ Daisy Harper replied.

  ‘Why the hell didn’t someone tell me it was Ranford trying to contact me?’

  ‘Easy, Deano. What does it matter?’ Harper answered, quite happy to up the ante if required, but Deans was already on the phone.

  ‘Paul, it’s Andy Deans. Sorry I missed your call. We’ve got one in the bin for this MISPER job, so we’re a bit snowed under at this end, mate. What can I do to help?’

  ‘I hope it’s a murder suspect,’ Ranford said. ‘We discovered a body on the beach this morning, and my money’s on it being your girl.’

  A sudden chill passed through Deans causing his entire body to judder.

  Ranford was still talking. ‘I haven’t got to the scene yet but I understand it’s a young woman buried beneath a large pile of rocks.’

  Deans’ mind flashed to the long, grey boulder ridge he had seen at the bay. ‘Jesus,’ he said sternly, ‘what’s the state of play?’

  ‘Uniform are on scene. Apparently, a bunch of potwallopers found her at around seven twenty this morning.’

  ‘Pop wally who?’

  ‘Potwallopers. You know… volunteers who look after the land, repair natural sea defences, that sort of thing. Dates way back. We’ve got about a dozen of them at the nick waiting to give statements as we speak.’

  ‘Good,’ Deans said, closing his eyes, imagining the scene. ‘Have we got containment on the body?’

  ‘Already taken care of. I’m heading down now.’

  ‘Please tell me I’m wrong,’ Deans said, screwing-up his eyes, ‘but is the body on Sandymere Bay?’

  ‘Certainly is,’ Ranford said.

  That was the beach Deans had fallen in love with – what were the chances of that?

  Chapter 17

  Deans faced a crossroads. A body, possibly that of missing person Amy Poole, had been found on a North Devon beach, with Amy’s boyfriend, Carl Groves, being held at Bath on suspicion of kidnap, for a job reported in Somerset but now more likely to have occurred in Devon. It was a jurisdiction muddle and it wanted to be resolved ASAP if Deans was going to progress the investigation effectively. However, it was not down to someone from his pay scale to determine. He would have to rely on the DI to thrash it out with his counterparts in Devon.

  If the body transpired to be Amy with foul play suspected, then a murder enquiry would commence in Devon and their murder squad would take the investigative lead. If the body was not Amy then North Devon Police would proceed accordingly and Somerset Police would continue the missing person enquiries. So much depended on the scene, the state of the body, whether or not it was Amy and inter-constabulary politics.

  Armed with Ranford’s update, the supervisors went off to discuss a plan of action in the DI’s office and closed the door.

  Deans waited quietly at his desk, chewing the tip of his pen lid as he watched the second hand of the clock slowly tick onwards. His prisoner had already used over fourteen hours of his custody time limit. Every minute spent talking was a minute less doing. If the interview took a total of five hours, including legal briefings and faffing about, Groves could still get bail with five hours in the bank for some point in the future. If the North Devon body turned out to be Amy, then Deans would need to see her and examine the scene, but he could not do that and deal with Groves at the same time.

  This was a high stakes situation, without the added impediment of the intervening distance, or the fragility of his domestic situation.

  Even the clearest-cut of murders involved a high demand on resources and complete dedication on the part of the OIC, and it would take months of grafting for the case to become trial-ready. How could he provide that level of service from one hundred and twenty miles away?

  He was torn. His head told him not to get involved any further because family had to be his priority. His heart was telling him to fight his corner and keep the case. After all, he informed the family of Amy’s disappearance and took the time to comfort them and establish the bond of trust that was so important in these investigations. He had tracked down the witnesses, obtained the statements and established that Groves was a prime suspect when no one else seemed that bothered about the investigation.

  Something else was nipping away at him: Denise Moon. It felt abnormal for Deans to think it, but if there was the faintest element of truth in what she told him then he owed it to Amy and her family to continue. If only it was his decision.

  The clock continued to tick away. Another seventeen minutes gone. Seventeen minutes less to deal with Groves. Seventeen minutes less to get himself down to Devon. Seventeen minutes less time at the end of the da
y to be at home with Maria.

  Deans began to pace the floor. He had picked up a ball of Blu-Tack from Harper’s desk and was working it eagerly in his hand as he tread a channel in the carpet tiles. His makeshift stress-reliever was doing a reasonable job, however his thoughts kept returning to Denise Moon. How had she known that Amy took a taxi, and why was she suggesting Amy’s dead body had been found. She had called Deans at just gone seven thirty. According to Ranford, the body at the beach had been discovered at seven twenty. If it turned out to be Amy, there was no possible way Denise could have known.

  The DI’s door opened and out walked the boss with Savage following close behind.

  ‘Deano, I’ve contacted my equivalent in Devon,’ the DI said. ‘They obviously need to establish the identity of the deceased before they’ll give me a final decision about the extent of your involvement.’

  Deans nodded.

  ‘As it stands, they’re happy for you to be on board, but they’ve also made it clear you’re not to tread on any toes, you get me?’

  Deans raised his brows with a twitch.

  ‘Obviously a lot of their resources will be tied up at the scene and with statement-taking so I think they’d be grateful for a little help. If this turns out to be sinister, they’ll be pulling additional resources from County HQ to supplement the local DCs. And that’s certainly how it’s looking.’

  Deans gently nodded again. He was waiting for a ‘but’.

  ‘Our problem, Deano, is the young lad locked up downstairs. His eggs are already hard-boiled and I feel we should definitely wait for more news before we interview him.’

  Deans finally spoke up. ‘Our options are limited, boss.’

  ‘I know, Deano. I know.’ The DI put a hand on Deans’ shoulder. ‘Good work so far, Deano. Well done.’

  ‘Thanks, boss.’

  Chapter 18