The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  ‘Lansdown Grange,’ she replied, placing the cider bottle onto the edge of the table while attempting to conceal a crumpled fold of silver foil that Deans had clocked the moment he entered the room.

  Deans knew of the Grange – one of Bath’s original Georgian masterpieces, occupying a lofty position over the city. But the location wasn’t what it was famed for – it was the price tag.

  ‘Do you pay for your dad’s stay?’ Deans asked.

  She shook her head.

  Deans frowned.

  ‘What happened to the money from the sale of The Willows?’ Apart from what you have pissed up a wall and jabbed into your veins.

  Miss Fenwick mumbled incoherently and stretched forwards.

  Deans made it easy for her. ‘Is the money in a bank?’ he asked.

  She slowly acknowledged him, her eyes rolling into the back of her head.

  Deans pursed his lips and shook his head. The best part of five hundred grand in the hands of this bloody imbecile.

  ‘I’ll let myself out,’ he said. It’ll be quicker

  .

  Chapter 6

  It had been three weeks since Deans last spoke to Denise Moon.

  Throughout the Amy Poole investigation, Denise had been his one true ally and trusted friend.

  Amy Poole was the murder victim of his last job. A job that drew him away from home and from his wife, Maria. A job that had changed every conceivable belief and understanding of the world as he knew it. A job that had ruined the person he used to be and created the person he had become.

  Denise Moon’s insight into the paranormal world of the afterlife had confused him and yet, her final words to him still lingered.

  He was alone in one of the empty offices that had dominated the nick since austerity measures dictated the futures of many of his colleagues. He was sitting on top of a desk with his feet planted on a chair in front of him. The room was dark, other than stray street light from the council car park adjacent to the station. Nobody walking by the office would see him, and he hoped the closed door would shield his words.

  He dropped his head. Did he have the courage to speak to Denise… and was he ready for the answer?

  He looked at his phone quivering in his hand. He steeled himself and allowed the call to ring beyond the three times of his earlier attempt.

  Denise answered with the familiar, satin warmth of her voice.

  ‘Hello, Denise,’ Deans said.

  There was a pause before she spoke. ‘Andy! How are you?’

  ‘Fine,’ he said gulping. ‘I’m fine, thanks.’

  There was an instance of silence.

  ‘Andy, I’m terribly sorry about your wife.’

  Deans did not answer.

  ‘How have you been keeping?’

  ‘You know.’

  ‘I was unsure whether to bother you,’ she said.

  ‘It’s fine,’ he said. ‘Look, I need some advice.’

  ‘Yes, of course.’

  Deans hesitated, looking towards the door. ‘Do ghosts really exist?’ he asked after a beat.

  ‘Ghosts? Well, yes,’ she answered. ‘You know they do… why? What’s happened?’

  ‘I’m dealing with a job—’

  ‘You’re at work?’

  ‘I had to,’ he groaned, and rubbed the large pasty-ridge formed scar behind his left ear.

  ‘No you didn’t. You should be looking after yourself—’

  ‘I am,’ he cut in. ‘This way I’m not…’ He stopped himself finishing the sentence.

  ‘I’m sorry, Andy. You must do whatever is right for you. Tell me about this…job.’ Deans walked to the door and looked through the glass into the darkened hallway.

  ‘I understand I have experienced… stuff before,’ he mumbled, ‘but can a ghost make noises – like day-to-day noises; walking, moving objects, that sort of thing?’

  ‘Yes, they can,’ she replied without hesitation.

  Bugger.

  ‘Have you encountered another spirit?’ Denise asked.

  ‘I think so.’

  ‘Andy, you need to take care. You are in a particularly vulnerable state now. Not all spirits are like Amy.’

  Deans did not answer.

  ‘Where is the investigation?’ Denise asked after a silence.

  ‘Bath – a double… suicide.’

  ‘Something has happened for you to ask that question,’ she said.

  Deans walked to the window and stared out into the night sky with hollow eyes.

  ‘Do you want me to visit and see you? It might do you good just to chat about—’

  ‘Would you?’

  ‘Yes, of course. I can probably rearrange my appointments—’

  ‘I’d like you to come up,’ he said.

  ‘I might sort something over the next day or two. How does that sound?’

  ‘I’ll almost certainly be at work, but I can meet you at the train station,’ he said.

  ‘Okay.’

  Deans stared out at nothing in particular and his eyes glazed over.

  ‘Andy?’ Denise said. ‘Are you still there?’

  ‘Did you know?’ Deans asked and waited.

  He heard a heavy breath in the earpiece.

  ‘“Don’t give up, whatever happens,” that’s what you said to me when I saw you last in North Devon. You had been crying—’

  ‘No,’ she said softly. ‘No, I didn’t know about Maria.’

  Deans fell silent.

  The line was quiet for many more seconds until Denise filled the void. ‘I realised something wasn’t right, but I could never have predicted—’

  ‘How?’ Deans asked speaking over her. ‘How could you realise?’

  ‘The guardians,’ Denise replied. ‘The guardians watch over us all – watch over you – remember?’

  Warmth radiated from deep inside his chest and spread throughout his torso. He looked down and touched his shirt.

  ‘Do I have other… abilities?’ he asked.

  ‘You have unparalleled abilities, Andy. I have never come across anyone with your potential.’

  ‘Would that include visionary foresight?’

  ‘Quite possibly.’

  His body sagged and he bunched his eyes.

  ‘Andy?’

  ‘I…’ he hesitated, struggling to find the words he wanted to say. ‘I keep having…dreams,’ he said.

  ‘What sort of dreams?’ Deans sucked air deep inside his chest and held it for a moment.

  ‘Am I seeing the past…or the future?’ he asked hesitantly.

  Denise did not answer straight away.

  ‘What kind of dreams, Andy?’

  He took the phone away from his ear and lowered it down by his side. He drifted off and looking out through the window, watched a young couple in the car park below. The woman walked around the front of the car and joined the man. They embraced for a long moment. They were in love – Deans could tell. The ache in his heart intensified.

  ‘Andy?’ he heard Denise asking. ‘What kind of dreams?’

  He tore his eyes away from the couple and raised the phone back to his lips.

  ‘Horrific.’

  ‘Maria?’ Denise asked.

  Deans stared at the floor. ‘I wake before…’

  ‘Your safety net,’ Denise said.

  Deans nodded. ‘I guess so.’

  ‘Do you want to talk about it?’

  Deans shrugged and looked through the window again. The couple had moved on. His breath fogged the glass and he studied it for a moment.

  ‘I walk in on her execution,’ he said and closed his eyes. ‘I can do nothing about it.’

  ‘Do you see who is responsible?’ Denise asked.

  ‘Ash Babbage… and someone else.’

  Denise did not speak.

  ‘Why do I keep having the same dream?’ he asked. He listened and waited for Denise to answer.

  Her breathing became louder.

  ‘You feel guilty for not being there for her w
hen she was taken; that’s you walking in onto something bad and you are not in control. You need to regain that feeling through the dream. Create anything to give you back that power. Own the dream; change the reality.’

  Deans shook his head. ‘I realise now that I am in a dream, but I’m completely helpless—’

  ‘As you are in real life,’ Denise cut in. ‘Own the dream. Change your reality…’

  Own the dream. He never wanted to experience the dream again, let alone dictate to it.

  Chapter 7

  Deans had slept reasonably well and for the first time in days he had not had that dream. Denise told him over the phone that she would treat him remotely – whatever that might mean. Maybe she had done something to help. He certainly felt more energised.

  He placed the whisky bottle back into the kitchen cupboard, walked to the bathroom, and swilled his mouth with Listerine. He stared at the face looking back at him in the mirror – he barely recognised himself.

  The landline began to ring in the bedroom. Deans bolted from the bathroom and picked up. ‘Hello, Maria?’ he answered quickly.

  ‘Good morning,’ came the breezy reply. ‘Is this Mr Deans?’

  ‘Who’s calling?’ Deans asked.

  ‘Is this Mr Andrew Deans?’ the voice replied.

  ‘Yes, yes, I’m Mr bloody Andrew Deans. Who is this?’

  ‘Can I take your month of birth to verify who you are please?’

  ‘I know who I am. Who are you?’ Deans barked.

  ‘Your month of birth please, sir?’

  ‘February. It’s February… the 12th if you really must know. Who is this?’

  ‘Thank you, Mr Deans. This is the fertility clinic. I’m sure you understand the reason for our confidentiality checks.’

  ‘Oh, yes… sorry. Sorry, I’m having a bit of a rough time at the moment.’

  ‘That’s okay, I understand,’ the still breezy voice said. ‘We are just checking that everything is okay?’

  ‘Why wouldn’t it be?’

  ‘You and your wife missed an appointment with us on Tuesday and we were just making sure you were still happy to continue with the treatment? Or, perhaps if you would like to speak with your consultant about anything?’

  Deans didn’t speak. He lowered the phone from his ear and peered over at Maria’s side of the bed – her favourite teddy – ‘Bob’ sitting expectantly on her pillow awaiting her return. A tickle of chilled air crawled up the back of his spine. He rubbed the nape of his neck with his free hand.

  ‘Mr Deans?’ the voice said after a few delayed seconds.

  ‘Yes,’ Deans said returning the receiver to speak. ‘I’m sorry for the missed appointment,’ he said in a blank voice. ‘Maria… Maria isn’t here at the moment. Can we call you back to make another appointment, please?’

  ‘I can make one for you now if you would prefer?’

  ‘No. No. Thanks, but… I need… I need to speak to my wife before I make any decisions.’

  ‘Well okay, that’s absolutely fine. Just to make you aware though, that your consultant is having an extended holiday this Christmas and has advised us that you shouldn’t leave the next appointment any longer than two more weeks from now. Is that okay?’

  ‘Yeah… I understand. Um, I’ll talk to Maria when I see her next.’

  ‘Okay, that’s wonderful. Take care and pass on our best wishes to your wife.’

  Deans looked at Bob again. ‘Yeah,’ he said. ‘Thanks.’

  He sloped across to the wardrobe, dug out the least crinkled work shirt and slowly dressed in a subdued daze. He stopped buttoning his shirt and waited.

  He held his breath and listened carefully. Scanning the room, he walked slowly over to the window and peered outside through a gap in the slats. His eyes narrowed as he searched the area in front of his property. He pulled his fingers away and the metallic blinds sprang back into position.

  Deans walked to the hallway and stopped. He sniffed the air, held it deep within his lungs and closed his eyes. It’s not her, he thought and returned to the bedroom. He peered at Bob. ‘See you later tonight, mate,’ he said and closed the door.

  The office was in the centre of Bath, a short, or long thirty minute walk, depending on how it was viewed.

  The moment he arrived Deans saw Savage coming out from the DI’s office. He was frowning and came straight over to Deans.

  ‘I’ve just been speaking with DI Thornton on the phone,’ Savage said. ‘He wants you to contact him this morning. He said it was urgent.’

  Deans checked his phone. ‘He hasn’t tried to contact me. What does he want?’

  Savage bobbed his shoulders and spoke in covert tones. ‘Just give him a call. Use the boss’s office; he’s not in there at the moment.’

  Deans’ eyes burned wide, and he headed straight for the small office at the back of the room, slamming the door behind him.

  He fumbled for the number stored on his phone and waited impatiently for DI Thornton to answer his call.

  ‘Thornton,’ the response eventually came.

  Deans was so anxious to speak, he forgot to say who he was. ‘My skipper said you needed to speak to me. Is there news?’ he spluttered.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ the DI said. ‘Is this Andrew?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah. Do you have news?’

  ‘Thanks for getting back to me so soon, Andrew,’ Thornton said. He sounded business-like. ‘Any chance you could pop over this morning?’

  Pop over? Deans rubbed his face vigorously. ‘Is there news?’ he asked again.

  ‘Let’s talk when you come over,’ Thornton replied.

  There’s news.

  ‘I’ll come over right away,’ he said, his heart leaping through his chest.

  ‘Good,’ Thornton replied. ‘Shall we say, around ten o’clock?’

  ‘I’m on my way now.’ Deans ended the call and rushed back out into the office.

  Savage was standing, waiting for him.

  ‘Deano?’ he asked.

  ‘I’ve gotta go,’ Deans said scooping up the contents of his day-bag and grabbing a set of car keys from the rack. ‘He’s got news.’

  ‘Are you alright?’ Savage asked, but Deans was already jogging out of the door.

  Deans arrived at the Major Crime Investigation Team (MCIT) offices in central Bristol, and hurried his way through the security doors, running up to the second floor, to where the incident room was located. Even though he was a detective of the same police constabulary, he was not granted automatic access in to this particular department.

  He peered through a clear panel of the door and rapped on the glass with his knuckles.

  Three detectives sitting at their desks a matter of feet away did a spectacular job of ignoring him.

  Bollocks to it.

  Deans booted the base of the door with the toe-end of his shoe.

  A female officer looked up from her computer screen and glared at him.

  Get off your arse now. He beckoned her across to him with a wave.

  She rose reluctantly from her chair and came to the door. ‘Yes,’ she said obtusely.

  ‘I’m Andy Deans.’

  She gazed at the ID badge hanging on a lanyard from his neck and shrugged in a disinterested fashion.

  Deans’ face tightened. ‘Andy Deans,’ he repeated. ‘Maria Deans’ husband.’

  ‘Oh!’ the officer said, looking over her shoulder towards the other two detectives at the table. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Please, come in.’ She stood aside and held the door wide open.

  ‘DI Thornton phoned me,’ Deans said. ‘He wanted to see me.’

  The officer’s skin was now a crimson glow. ‘Um… can you just wait here?’ she said. ‘I’ll go and see if he’s ready.’

  Ready? He instinctively checked his phone. No messages.

  ‘Would you like a drink?’ the detective asked coming back into the room. ‘He’s going to be a few more minutes.’

  Deans shook his head.

  He
shifted uneasily on his feet and looked around the room. He had previously worked in this very same office when detectives had been seconded from outer districts to aid the MCIT during a spree of gang murders in Bristol. His eyes settled on the white-board in the corner of the room. ‘OPERATION ENGAGE’ was penned in bold black letters. He repeated the words in his head and prayed they were; engaged.

  The female detective broke Deans’ trance. ‘You…’ she said hesitating, ‘you work at Falcon Road nick, don’t you?’

  Deans silently confirmed.

  ‘I love Bath, I do. I come down every year with my boyfriend for the Christmas market. He’s meeting me this weekend and we’re going over.’

  Deans’ brow furrowed. Come down?

  ‘Andrew!’

  The recognisable Bristolian tones of DI Thornton came from the other end of the room.

  Deans dipped his head to the female detective and walked over, shaking Thornton’s hand.

  ‘Come on through, Andrew. Thanks for trekking over to see us.’ He held Deans’ stare for a significant moment. ‘Come in to my office,’ he said.

  The DI led the way through another open plan office with enough seating for at least thirty officers, and stood aside his glass-walled fishbowl office in the corner of the room.

  ‘Take a seat,’ he said, nudging the door closed with his bottom, yet remained standing himself.

  Deans complied and stared wide-eyed at Thornton.

  The DI hovered for a measured moment and then sat next to him.

  Deans’ knee bobbed uncontrollably. He looked the DI square in the face. ‘You have news,’ he said.

  The DI’s lips constricted, he shook his head and lifted a twitching a finger above his head.

  Two suits Deans did not recognise entered the room and stood in front of him.

  ‘Andrew, these detectives want to ask you some questions,’ the DI said rising to his feet and standing closer towards the door.

  Deans looked at the two officers and then raked a glance at Thornton who returned an apologetic smile.

  ‘You are fucking kidding me,’ Deans said, stiffening his arms and shoulders.

  ‘Just follow the chaps please, Andrew,’ Thornton said. ‘Let’s not make this any more difficult than it already is.’