The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  ‘That’s not why we are here,’ Deans replied.

  ‘Is it the CCTV outside… again?’ the woman wheezed.

  Savage stepped forwards. ‘Again?’

  ‘Who else has asked you for the CCTV?’ Deans questioned more directly. ‘When – when were you asked?’

  ‘I can’t remember… two, maybe three weeks ago,’ she shrugged.

  Deans scowled and looked at Savage.

  ‘And did you have CCTV to hand over?’ Savage asked.

  ‘Well, obviously,’ she said sarcastically.

  ‘Can we see it now?’ Deans asked looking over to the old-fashioned VHS recording equipment.

  ‘Well, no,’ she snapped. ‘Not until you lot come back and fix the machine you broke.’

  ‘Has it worked since that time?’ Deans asked.

  ‘No it hasn’t,’ she replied tartly.

  ‘What did the CCTV show?’ Deans asked with a determined voice.

  The woman looked at him as if he was an idiot and shook her head.

  ‘The lady – the umbrella lady,’ she replied curtly. ‘The stuff you lot wanted in the first place.’

  Deans lunged towards the equipment.

  Savage reacted first. ‘What are you doing?’ he said pulling Deans back.

  ‘Seizing the recorder—’

  ‘Deano, you can’t.’ Savage held Deans’ arm tightly preventing him from grabbing the machine.

  Deans grimaced. ‘We need that footage.’

  ‘I know, mate,’ Savage said trying to calm Deans down. ‘Let me chat to Thornton, see what’s happening.’

  Deans relaxed his arms and spoke to the manager again. ‘Do you remember who came to collect the CCTV?’

  The manager shrugged. ‘How am I supposed to remember everyone that comes in here?’

  ‘Did they leave a card… a contact number?’

  She shook her head.

  ‘Suit or uniform?’ Deans pressed.

  She pulled a face and raised her eyes to the ceiling. ‘He was in a suit. Smart-looking. Just like you two.’

  Savage suggested that they go to a coffee shop for a chat and a cool down. Deans was in no fit state to return to the office and a caffeine fix was probably a good idea. Savage took the lead and thankfully found them a decent place.

  They sat in silence with their drinks. Savage watching Deans continuously.

  ‘I’ve been thinking,’ Savage said eventually.

  ‘Me too,’ Deans replied.

  ‘I’d do everything by the book if I were you, Deano. There are obviously things in play that neither of us knows about.’

  Deans bowed his head.

  Savage slurped his drink and tugged the tip of his ear like it was a piece of rubber.

  ‘What’s on your mind?’ Deans asked. ‘Just come out with it.’

  Savage stared down at the table and fiddled with his mug.

  ‘Did I have anything to do with it?’ Deans asked. ‘Is that what you were thinking?’

  Savage looked up and held Deans’ eye.

  ‘You know where I was Mick,’ Deans said.

  ‘I know where you say you were. But none of us were there with you, Deano.’

  Deans lowered his chin and looked at Savage through his brooding lids.

  ‘Come on, Deano. I’ve got your back—’

  ‘But?’

  Savage blinked and peered into his cup.

  ‘But?’ Deans repeated more assertively.

  ‘Look, I understand the Amy Poole investigation took a toll on you. Put pressures on you and Maria I could never fully appreciate.’ Savage shook his head. ‘I didn’t know you were trying for kids – having treatment. Christ! Why did you allow yourself to get so involved in Devon?’

  Deans lowered his gaze and began twisting his cup in the saucer.

  ‘I’m just saying, Deano. If that was me—’

  ‘But it wasn’t,’ Deans snapped. ‘And you have no comprehension about what has happened to me over the last few weeks.’

  Savage scratched the side of his nose and bobbed his head.

  ‘Are you still in touch with that woman?’ he asked.

  Deans nodded once.

  Savage huffed. ‘She’s the reason your life has become so screwed up, and you don’t seem to see that.’

  Deans smiled insincerely and gently rocked his head. ‘Fine,’ he said.

  ‘I’m trying to help,’ Savage said. ‘Trying to give you warning.’

  Deans narrowed his stare and brought his cup to his lips with both hands.

  ‘Are you going to see her again?’ Savage asked.

  Deans took a considered sip from his coffee and licked the froth from the top of his lip before answering. ‘More than likely,’ he replied.

  ‘Well then…’ Savage planted both hands flat onto the table as if he was about to perform a push-up. ‘I think we’d better go and get a proper drink.’

  Chapter 10

  Savage took Deans to the Bunker – a trendy, subterranean wine bar below the busy pavements of George Street. With a near guarantee of not being surrounded by shit-bags, this was a safe bet for two cops to hang out and have a serious chat. Savage had already called the office, spoken to the late tour skipper, DS Reynolds, and told him not to expect them back, and to inform the rest of the team he would see them in the morning.

  Savage was a self-proclaimed wine connoisseur. He probably talked a load of bollocks, but Deans did not know any the better; it was either red or white.

  Savage shouted in a thirty quid bottle of Argentinian red and they found an alcove furthest from the music where talking was less of a challenge.

  ‘How’s the double-death going?’ Savage asked.

  Deans sipped from his glass. ‘Okay.’

  Savage gave him a fleeting glance.

  ‘Come on, Mick,’ Deans said. ‘What’s really on your mind? Don’t treat me like a bloody idiot.’

  Savage smiled. It was as if just a few sips of the vino had already loosened him up.

  ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Cards on the table.’

  The dim lighting made it difficult for Deans to read Savage’s eyes.

  ‘Human Resources have been in contact with me over the last few days. They are concerned about your… capacity… considering—’

  ‘And what about you, Mick?’ Deans interrupted. ‘Are you concerned?’

  ‘Deano, you know I’m supportive of you on this. Would I have given you the double-death if I was concerned about your ability?’ Savage stopped talking and fiddled with the long slender stem of his glass. ‘I have to be seen doing the right thing, that’s all.’

  ‘Which is?’

  ‘Your welfare, Deano.’

  They locked eyes and Savage turned away and took a couple of quick sips from his glass.

  ‘Have Occupational Health been in contact with you this week?’ he asked.

  Deans nodded, took a sip. ‘I’ve got an appointment with them on Monday.’

  ‘Good,’ Savage said and placed both hands flat on the table.

  Deans made a point of noticing the gesture.

  ‘Look, I’m worried about you, Deano. The entire department is worried. It’s a hell of a shock––’

  ‘And I’m dealing with it.’

  Savage dipped his gaze and shook his head. ‘What about Babbage?’

  Deans’ cheeks flushed and he shifted in his seat. He lifted his wine glass towards his face and created a shield between himself and Savage.

  ‘What do you mean?’ he asked and took a drawn out sip.

  ‘Come on, Deano. You must want to wring his neck. It sounded like he practically coughed to Maria’s disappearance.’

  Deans shrugged. ‘What can I do? He’s on remand in a Devon prison and their force is investigating him.’

  ‘Deano…’ Savage wavered and checked over his shoulder. ‘Deano, all that stuff about psychics and ghosts?’

  So, that’s what this is really about. Deans placed his glass down onto the table and rested his chin o
n top of his interlocked knuckles.

  ‘It’s just…’ Savage continued. ‘I think you do need to see a proper doctor, or something—’

  ‘Or something?’

  ‘You know?’

  ‘No, Mick. I don’t know.’ Deans leaned back against the hard wooden rungs of the chair and stared at Savage. ‘I trusted you with that information, Mick.’

  ‘Come on, Deano. Really? Do you honestly believe half of that stuff happened?’

  ‘I confided in you. I needed someone I could trust. You have no idea what I went through—’

  ‘No, I don’t.’

  Another weighty silence followed.

  ‘What have you told Human Resources?’ Deans asked.

  ‘Nothing, Deano. Not about that. Christ, how would it make me sound?’

  Deans could not believe what he was hearing.

  Savage sunk the rest of his glass and poured himself another as he spoke.

  ‘Deano, the current climate… well, you’re familiar with how it is. I just don’t want to lose you because you’ve made it easy for HR to get rid of you.’ He waved a dismissive hand. ‘Just saying, Deano. Just saying.’

  There it is. I’m on my own.

  Chapter 11

  Next day Deans went to work with a thick head. He had played along with Savage, extracting any snippets of information that might help him, or he should be wary of, but the more Savage drank the more he wanted to divulge his own domestic strife. At least Deans did not have to rehearse his own real life drama.

  His plan for the day was simple: return to The Willows and mooch about for answers. But what he needed most was to be on his own. The Roses’ post mortems were fixed for ten-thirty, commencing with Helen Rose. In fairness to Savage, he had insisted Deans should not be involved in the examinations – probably a wise call.

  Savage was not around, Mitchell was in Southmead at the post mortem and Harper was away from her desk.

  Deans sat in front of his computer screen, shoulders rounded and his back hunched. Even the third coffee of the morning was doing little to help his motivation.

  His eyes settled on a Jiffy envelope on the corner of his desk. He put his coffee down and picked up the package. He noticed the STORM LOG reference number for the double-death written on the corner – probably copied from the press release on the force website.

  Deans twirled the Royal Mail package in his hands before setting it back down on the desk in front of him.

  He took another swig of coffee, hooked a little finger under the flap and peeled it open. He squeezed the edges together and peered into the parcel. There was a CD case.

  He frowned, poured it out onto the desk and reached for a pair of forensic gloves. It was always better to be safe than sorry.

  The disk was unmarked. He angled it towards the window-light – it did have something recorded onto it.

  He grabbed a laptop and put the disk inside. As the machine readied itself, Deans picked up the envelope and studied it again. There was no sign where it had come from, other than a Swindon postmark.

  The computer whirred and whined as the disk loaded, and a small thumbnail file appeared in the centre of the screen.

  Deans leaned in closer.

  His interest piqued, he double clicked the small square and reached for his mug of coffee.

  The image expanded and his jaw fell open. He was looking at the Roses’ bedroom – with them inside – and they were still alive.

  He dropped his mug to the desk and could not take his eyes away from the screen. Why film yourselves?

  The bedroom was dark, but everything inside could be easily seen from the sage-green sheen of night-vision photography. As he continued to watch, Mr Rose rolled away from his wife. Deans heard the baby murmur from somewhere inside the Moses basket located directly alongside Mrs Rose and Deans quickly increased the volume, and then it began:

  Mrs Rose suddenly lashed out with her hands and screamed wildly waking Mr Rose. The pair simultaneously sat upright, their eyes glowing fluorescent green in the night-vision. The baby began to cry. Mr Rose kicked out with a frenzied attempt to move higher up the bed and Mrs Rose covered her face with her hands and dived behind the small of his back. Both were yelling and screaming loudly. A bright flash of light interrupted the recording and the footage vanished for a second or two.

  “Argh… Argh… Argh,” Mr Rose howled. Mrs Rose whimpered behind the shield of her hands and pressed herself up against the headboard. Mr Rose lunged over his wife completely covering her from view.

  Deans could hear her muffled voice crying out for “Molly”, and then, just as quickly, she fell silent. No more crying, no more whimpering, no more calling out for her daughter.

  Deans was transfixed and could then hear Mr Rose pleading repeatedly, “No. No. No.” He pulled Mrs Rose out from beneath him and ran his hands through her hair, exposing her anguished and twisted face to the camera. Suddenly, an orb of white light moved from above Mrs Rose’s head towards the cot. Deans leaned in closer to the screen and watched the light hover above the child for a brief moment, and then race back towards the bed. Mr Rose let out one final blood-curdling squeal before he too fell silent and motionless.

  Deans blinked moisture back into his eyes and mouthed, holy shit. Their body positions were now exactly as he had seen them at the scene.

  The baby suddenly chuckled – no mistake. Neither a gargle nor an incoherent infant emission – a giggle – one hundred percent.

  Deans gaped at the cot. The baby’s hands appeared on the lip of the wicker basket and then its head.

  Is that possible? The baby looked directly into the lens of the camera and Deans’ heart jumped a beat. The baby appeared to be watching Deans – watching him.

  Deans shot back in the chair. He did not blink, even though his eyes were burning wide.

  The baby made another noise.

  Deans shook his head and swiftly stopped the recording.

  His finger hovered above the computer mouse. He surely did not just hear what he thought he heard?

  He finally blinked the discomfort from his eyes and rewound the footage by twenty seconds. His mouth was ajar and his breathing hurried. He nudged the volume to maximum and hit the play button once again.

  There is was. He hadn’t misheard it. The baby had spoken – just three words, but enough. Enough to scare the living crap out of Deans.

  “I see you.”

  Mitchell returned to the office within the hour. He bounded over to Deans and slipped a report onto the desk.

  ‘You okay, Deano?’ Mitchell asked sitting opposite him.

  Deans didn’t look up.

  ‘Have you heard something?’ Mitchell asked softly. ‘You don’t look too well.’

  Deans shook his head.

  ‘Post Mortem results,’ Mitchell said, ‘on that report.’

  Deans heaved a sigh, but did not answer.

  ‘Cardiac arrest,’ Mitchell said, ‘both of them.’

  Deans nodded.

  ‘Initial toxicology has failed to identify a contributing cause,’ Mitchell said. ‘The pathologist is considering further examinations.’

  ‘Won’t do any good,’ Deans said, finally looking up over the top of the laptop.

  ‘Why not?’ Mitchell asked.

  ‘Because there aren’t any tests to prove what they died from.’

  Chapter 12

  Deans figured the DVD footage was recorded from the baby-cam he had seen in the Roses’ bedroom. He had struggled on the internet to find a camera brand that recorded footage, however, did discover several disturbing news articles relating to ‘hacked’ baby-cams, where external parties had intercepted insecure units for their own criminal vices. He had watched the DVD again – the extinction of life was no easier for the seventh, as it was the first time of viewing. If anything, the more he saw it the more distressed he felt. Perhaps he was not ready for this?

  He had kept the DI informed about the DVD, but up until now, had not disclosed e
verything he had seen on it, or believed he had viewed on it.

  ‘Sir,’ Deans said tapping quietly on the open door to the DI’s office. ‘I’d like to send this disk and envelope away for forensics. We need to find who sent it.’

  ‘For the suicide job?’ the DI asked, still working on his computer. ‘It’s nothing that we need to worry about.’

  Deans shook his head. ‘It’s not a suicide, Boss.’

  The DI faced Deans and for a moment just stared at him. He pointed to a chair and Deans sat down.

  ‘What’s on your mind, Deano?’ the DI asked.

  ‘I don’t believe they intended to die,’ Deans said. ‘The DVD suggests…’ he paused – it was now all or nothing, ‘…well it suggests external influences were responsible.’

  The DI shook his head and shrugged a shoulder. ‘External influences?’ he repeated. ‘Surely it shows two people reacting to whatever they’ve digested? Their final, violent bodily responses to an as yet unidentified toxin.’

  Deans looked down to his feet. ‘I know I’ve been distracted––’

  ‘Nobody could criticise you for that, Deano. You are having a hellish time.’

  Deans looked the DI square in the face. ‘Those two people didn’t die by design,’ he said. ‘They were petrified.’

  The DI unscrewed the lid on his bottle of sparkling water with a sharp hiss. Deans could hear each slow revolution of the twisting cap and subsequent throaty gulp of liquid. The DI wiped his lips with the back of his hand and secured the bottle once more. He looked at Deans again and smiled.

  ‘They may have been petrified by what was happening to their bodies, Deano,’ he said.

  ‘No.’

  The DI tilted his head and exposed the palm of his hands.

  ‘Okay then,’ he said calmly. ‘Tell me what they died from?’

  Deans took a deep breath. ‘Boss… there is something in that house.’

  The DI sat back and swivelled in his chair. He peered at Deans and bounced one foot on the floor. After a short delay, he gestured go on with his hand.