The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  He touched the side of his right temple, his eyes burning on the page. The headaches, he thought. He raced through the subsequent pages, and then at number 71, his skin blanched and he stopped dead.

  He was looking at the driveway, front garden and front door of his own house. Frozen air stiffened his neck and shoulders and goosebumps spread over his body like a pestilence of locusts, gnawing at his skin. He hurried through the pages, unable to turn them fast enough, but it was alone. A solitary image.

  He returned back to the page and blinked uncontrollably as he took it all in. His car was on the drive.

  Sarah had been watching him. ‘Are you all right, Andy?’

  He did not answer.

  ‘Andy? Are you okay?’

  The door opened and Jackson burst in. ‘There you both are. Briefing in ten. Don’t be late.’ He slammed the door and was gone.

  ‘Andy?’ Sarah said with more urgency.

  ‘Yes, what?’ he replied sharply.

  Sarah flinched, a look of surprise on her face. ‘Shall we get some thoughts together for the briefing?’

  ‘Briefing?’

  ‘The one Sarge just told us about.’

  Deans shook his head.

  Sarah snatched the documents away from him and bundled them up together. ‘Come on,’ she said pushing her chair away from the table.

  ‘I’m going to give Babbage what he wants,’ Deans said in a monotone voice.

  ‘What do you mean?’

  ‘Me. He wants me. So he’s going to get me.’

  ‘I don’t understand.’

  ‘I want to go solo in the next interview, Sarah.’

  ‘The sarge won’t go for that. He will want both of us there. The policy stipulates—’

  ‘Fuck the policy and fuck that wanker, Jackson.’

  Sarah took a backward step. ‘What’s happened, Andy?’ she asked nervously.

  ‘Babbage has happened.’

  ‘What do you mean?’

  Deans did not answer. He was already walking out of the room.

  Chapter 54

  Deans and Sarah were the final two people to arrive at the conference room. There were no seats again so they stood against the wall. Deans sensed urgency in the room, the taste of progress in the air.

  The DI explained that Sarah and Deans would put another interview to Babbage and hit him with all the new evidence. Jackson would arrange the extension of custody time from the magistrates’ court, and he hoped by the end of the day that they would have the full forensic package.

  Deans did not mention the photograph; in fact, he failed to speak throughout the entire briefing.

  Jackson followed Deans and Sarah out of the room. ‘I need a detailed report from you within the hour,’ he demanded.

  ‘About what?’ Sarah asked.

  ‘Everything. Unless you want to bow and scrape to the magistrates? No, didn’t think so.’

  ‘We need to prepare for the next interview. Ask the disclosure officer,’ Deans said.

  ‘Just get me that bloody report,’ Jackson snapped. ‘If we don’t get this extension we can kiss the next interview goodbye, along with the job.’

  Deans had not seen him this flustered before. Angry – yes, stressed – no.

  Jackson glared at them both. ‘I need it like yesterday, so get on with it,’ he said and stomped away.

  Whether Deans liked Jackson or not, he had to agree with something he had said; they were scuppered without the magistrates’ approval for longer detention. Therefore, he and Sarah set about knocking up a typed précis, which just less than an hour later was in Jackson’s ungrateful hand.

  Deans imagined Jackson would read the summary word for word like a script. He so wished he could have put something in to screw him up and make him suffer. He would have loved to view the spectacle in person but alas, the interview of Babbage was waiting.

  They arrived at the custody suite and set about preparing the new evidence for interview. The duty inspector had already conducted a welfare check on Babbage and it was evident that he was still refusing legal representation, but that could still change with the looming prospect of another couple of days banged up.

  Sarah took Deans along a narrow corridor to show him the video satellite room and found the DI inside talking on the landline. Five empty plastic chairs squeezed tightly into the width of the room, beneath a TV monitor fixed to the wall.

  Deans looked at the bright image on the TV screen. It was the familiar view of their interview room.

  Sarah raised a hand and quietly apologised to the DI, and closed the door again. She pulled at Deans’ arm before they reached the interview room.

  ‘Are you angry with me about something?’ she asked.

  ‘God, no. Why?’

  ‘You just seem quiet today.’

  ‘Sarah, seriously. I’m fine.’ He hesitated. ‘…I’m sorry. I’ve got a few things bothering me right now.’

  She dropped her head. ‘I shouldn’t have invited you over. I’m sorry.’

  ‘Sarah, don’t be sorry.’ He reached out and touched her hand. ‘I promise it’s nothing to do with you, or last night.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Her doleful brown eyes combed his face.

  ‘Come on,’ he said, giving her a one-armed hug. ‘Shall we get this show on the road?’

  Two and a half hours later, they were ready. Jackson had succeeded with the extension and Deans and Sarah waited for Babbage’s arrival in the interview room.

  Deans had scribbled a note to Sarah; she would start the interview but he would indicate when the time was right for her to leave.

  Babbage walked nonchalantly into the room sporting a wide grin, a detention officer close behind. Deans looked away.

  Sarah commenced the interview, and as before, Babbage stared at Deans throughout.

  ‘Tell us everything about the camera found in your study,’ Sarah asked.

  Babbage leaned on the table towards her. ‘No comment.’ He sat back and faced Deans once again.

  ‘Tell us who the camera belongs to.’

  ‘No. Comment.’

  ‘Describe the images stored on the camera,’ Sarah continued.

  Babbage closed his eyes, emitted a slow, hushed groan, and formed a satisfied smile. ‘Why don’t you tell us, Detective Deans?’ He said darkly.

  The bastard was trying to wind him up, and doing a good job of it too.

  ‘I’m asking you,’ Sarah interjected calmly.

  ‘Come on, Detective?’ an increasingly-animated Babbage said. ‘Was there anything on the camera that you’d like to share with us?’

  Deans did all he could not to vault the table, strangle Babbage and enjoy every second of it. Instead, through clenched teeth he responded, ‘It’s not my interview, Babbage, it’s yours. And you’re being asked a question.’

  Babbage leaned closer towards Sarah, who simultaneously pushed back in her chair. ‘I tell you what, pretty,’ he said. ‘I will talk with Detective Deans now. So you can toddle off and do your nails or something.’

  ‘You don’t tell me how to run this interview—’

  ‘Sarah, it’s fine,’ Deans interrupted. ‘That’s fine. If Mr Babbage wants to speak with me, then that’s okay.’

  Sarah looked up at the camera.

  ‘Go on, Sarah, it’s fine,’ Deans encouraged.

  ‘Mr Babbage,’ Deans said, ‘for benefit of procedure, would you please confirm that you’d prefer that it was just myself present during this interview?’

  ‘I believe that’s what I asked for. Go on, Sarah – off you go.’ Babbage turned to face the camera. ‘I hope you’re paying attention out there.’

  Deans scribbled a note on a scrap of paper: I’ll be OK. Stay in the video room.

  Sarah stood up and reluctantly announced, ‘The time is twelve twenty-three hours. DC Gold is leaving the interview room at the request of the defendant.’ She gave Deans another look of concern and headed out of the room.

  Babbage appeared ver
y pleased about things, and strangely relaxed.

  ‘So finally, Detective,’ he said. ‘Here you are, and here we are… alone.’

  Deans said nothing, rested his elbows on the desk and interlocked his fingers, his stare penetrating.

  ‘I must say, I’m surprised at your constraint. I had you figured for a man that didn’t have much in the way of… self-control.’ Babbage forced a brief smile. ‘I was very sad of course, to hear of your dismissal when the affair came to light.’

  Deans scowled, his fingers melding together as a molten fury surged through his body.

  ‘Oh, sorry, Detective. Has it only just dawned on you who the concerned member of public was that alerted your sergeant to the entire sordid liaison? One can only imagine what poor Maria must’ve thought when she found out.’

  Deans was taut with rage.

  ‘Oh, forgive me,’ Babbage said dramatically. ‘How is the delightful Maria? You must miss her terribly.’ His tone was sickeningly patronising.

  Deans steeled himself and broke his silence. ‘This is neither about me nor my wife.’

  ‘Au contraire, Detective. You haven’t figured it out yet, have you?’

  Deans’ eyes flickered.

  ‘What’s wrong, Detective? Have you lost your voice without that little tart by your side?’

  If Babbage was digging for a reaction, he got one.

  ‘I don’t want to hear another murmur from your trap about me, my wife, or Detective Gold. Do you understand, Babbage?’

  ‘Hit a nerve, have we, Detective? Maybe Maria should know about this little temptation too… ooh,’ he covered his mouth with both hands, just like a child exposing a secret. ‘I almost forgot,’ he whispered.

  Deans wriggled in his seat and tugged at the inside of his shirt collar.

  ‘You see, Detective,’ Babbage said, now increasingly animated. ‘You don’t necessarily need to kill someone to ruin another person’s life. Although, you could argue it’s much easier if you do.’

  Deans broke eye contact for the first time and clenched his fists beneath the table.

  Babbage did not take a backward step. ‘Why do you think you’re even here, Detective? Eh? It’s because I wanted it to happen. Because all along I have been playing you.’ Babbage’s face twisted with a look of utter contempt. ‘I didn’t have to end up here. I chose to be here.’ He stopped talking, his lips twitching as if he was practicing a kiss. ‘Think about it. You’re on a thin thread my suited friend, and you’re dangling – from my fingers.’ As he grinned, the tips of his ears lifted. ‘You were here, then you weren’t, then you were again.’ He leant on the table and stood away from the chair. ‘How do you enjoy living alone, now that Maria’s left you?’

  Deans turned from Babbage, and twisted his body away.

  Babbage then spoke with an infantile voice, ‘Has she told you you’re special? Hmmm? Has she said you have the gift?’ He laughed heartily. ‘You and Denise think you’ve got me sussed. Well I have news for you suckers; Denise is an old has-been and I have taken the gift to a completely different level. You? …You don’t even know you’re born. Do you think it was a mistake punching that traffic cop? Course it wasn’t. I planned it. I made it happen. I got you dismissed and I got you back. You are nothing but a pathetic lackey. I have been dissecting your crappy existence piece by piece for my personal entertainment right from the start. Look at you – you are tragic. You don’t even realise it yet, but I’ve ruined you.’

  Deans was now huddled in his chair, his hands covering his ears.

  Watching from the satellite room Jackson was on his feet.

  ‘What the fuck’s he doing? Why is he allowing Babbage to speak to him like that? Deans is having a fucking breakdown in there.’ He started to make towards the door. ‘I’m putting an end to this joke.’

  ‘Leave it, Jackson,’ the DI snapped. ‘Sit down.’

  ‘He’s fucking this up,’ Jackson frothed.

  ‘Sit back down and watch this develop,’ the DI demanded.

  Jackson flung his arms down by his sides and returned to his seat like a stroppy teenager. ‘He’s making a mockery of this investigation, and all of us.’

  Sarah could not look away from the screen, her face aghast. She wanted Jackson to rush in just to save Deans from the humiliation unfolding.

  Back in the interview room and Deans was curled up tight in the chair. A tingle passed through his spine.

  Donna. Donna. A child-like voice captivated his senses. He held his breath and attempted to shut out a raging Babbage.

  Donna. Evil, little Donna. There it was again, only this time louder; the unmistakable voice of a child, calling out.

  Babbage suddenly stopped ranting and for a brief moment, there was respite. Deans sneaked a glance; Babbage was flapping his arms as if he was fending something away.

  Evil, little Donna. Evil, little Donna.

  Was Babbage hearing this too?

  Mummy loves me more than you. This time the voice was accompanied by gushing laughter.

  ‘Donna?’ Deans repeated with barely a whisper. Babbage was now in full tirade, his behaviour more hostile than at any time before.

  ‘I can’t believe you’re jumping through hoops for that little slapper anyway,’ Babbage snarled. ‘Prancing around like royalty. Thought she was so privileged with her perfect little life. She thought she was better than me too, but I knew her dirty, slutty secrets.’ Babbage began to laugh. ‘At least she had more spirit than you. Had some fight in her. You are pitiful. I was at least hoping for some sort of opposition.’

  Deans lifted his head. ‘Evil, Donna?’

  Babbage faltered, steadied himself with the table. ‘What?’

  Deans faced him for the first time in minutes and noticed Babbage blink uncontrollably. ‘Donna,’ Deans repeated loudly.

  ‘You?’ Babbage said, and took a noticeable step backwards. He then erupted with uncontrollable ferocity. ‘You don’t know me. You don’t know anything about me. You’ve got no idea,’ he bellowed. ‘Don’t ever think that you can get the better of me. That’s not ever going to happen.’

  Deans slowly uncurled himself and rose to his feet.

  ‘That other little princess?’ Babbage shouted, teeth borne. ‘She thought she could get into my head, and look what happened to her…’ In an instant, his anger turned to laughter. ‘Not so clever was she, when she was pleading for me not to end her inconsequential existence. You’re all—’ Babbage stopped abruptly.

  The room fell still.

  Deans straightened his shoulders, turned to the camera and reached down the lens, eyes wide. A minute went by and neither of them spoke.

  Deans approached a now sedentary Babbage and rested his knuckles on the desktop. ‘Your eyes tell you what you want them to believe, Babbage.’

  ‘You bastard!’ Babbage shouted.

  ‘Who is Donna?’ Deans asked again.

  Babbage narrowed his stare, the crow’s-feet ever prominent.

  Suddenly, involuntary images flashed through Deans’ mind; the pebble ridge, Amy, Babbage’s house, and then a collection of old family pictures he remembered seeing from the photo albums recovered at the scene.

  Jesus Christ, he thought.

  Babbage was searching Deans’ face and had obviously picked up something in Deans’ expression.

  Deans looked away, put both hands to his head and paced the room. He stopped and turned towards the camera once again.

  ‘You know, at first I was surprised by the position of the body,’ Deans said. ‘Either side, there must have been hundreds and thousands of tonnes of rock to conceal Amy beneath.’ He turned back to face Babbage. ‘Initially, I thought I was looking for someone with a self-admiration complex: allow the discovery of the corpse, and then revel in the media frenzy.’ He paused. ‘…And then I looked at motivations, and I have to say that I was somewhat thrown to learn that sexual contact was unlikely. After all, Amy was a good-looking girl… no, take that back. She was an absolutely beau
tiful, intelligent and warm-hearted young woman—’

  ‘She was nothing but a little slut,’ Babbage interrupted.

  ‘And you took it upon yourself to remedy that particular situation.’

  Babbage did not reply. Instead, with a broad smile he began to snigger.

  ‘What’s so amusing?’ Deans asked.

  ‘You. You are so amusing, Detective Deans.’ Babbage’s eyes narrowed to horizontal slits.

  I’ve got you now, fucker, Deans thought. ‘Tell me about your brother,’ he asked.

  Babbage scoffed and turned away.

  ‘You know,’ Deans said. ‘It was confusing at first, but now? Makes perfect sense.’ He looked up at the camera again and spoke as if directly addressing the audience in the satellite room. ‘If only we had put you in a forensic suit.’

  Babbage shuffled in the seat for the first time. Deans had him.

  ‘You were taunted weren’t you?’ Deans said. ‘Did your little brother make fun of you? Did he reinforce the deficiencies in your mother’s love?’

  ‘Are you a detective or a fucking psychiatrist?’ Babbage seethed, full of loathing.

  Deans chortled. ‘I must admit, sometimes it is hard to distinguish the two.’

  Babbage stared down at the table with a crazed, fixed grin.

  ‘So, let’s for a moment get back to Amy,’ Deans said. ‘What was it, her popularity? Her looks? Her devoted family life? Your shitty life?’

  ‘What would you know about shitty life?’ Babbage bit.

  Bingo, Deans thought. ‘So tell me about it.’

  ‘Fuck you.’

  Deans could feel Babbage simmering with angst – on the brink.

  ‘I suppose you had a perfect upbringing?’ Babbage said, unable to contain himself.

  Deans shrugged. ‘Not particularly.’

  ‘Well, I bet you weren’t always second best.’

  ‘I’m an only child,’ Deans said, and noticed Babbage watching him closely.

  ‘I get it,’ Deans said. “See No Evil. Hear No Evil” – her cheeks – the glue. You were referring to you.’

  Babbage grinned.