‘Excuse me,’ the carer said abruptly.
‘George knows why I’m here, don’t you, George?’ Deans said still focussed on his subject.
‘I’m sorry,’ the carer said placing a hand on George’s shoulder. ‘Why are you talking to George like he is some kind of common criminal?’
Deans smiled but did not break his attention away from George. ‘Isn’t that the million dollar question?’ he said.
‘I really have to object to this,’ the carer said, sidling in between Deans and George. ‘I’m sorry, I don’t care where you say you are from,’ she said.
‘Tell me about Charlie,’ Deans said, leaning around the flank of the carer.
‘No, no, no. Now that is quite enough. Please leave,’ the nurse said using her hands to usher Deans away. ‘I think you will need a warrant if you wish to speak to George anymore.’
Deans stood up and pushed the plastic chair over onto the floor with the back of his knees. ‘And I think you’ve been watching too many films, love,’ he said.
Samantha stepped forward.
‘He knows, Dad,’ she mumbled down to her feet. ‘He knows about Charlie.’
Deans looked over at Samantha. For the first time he saw real emotion on her face.
She crouched over and grabbed her father around the neck, and hugged him tightly.
George made a strained sound in the back of his throat causing Samantha to let go and step away. All three of them looked at him.
‘I think you already know I’m not letting this go, George,’ Deans said. ‘A man of your experience…’
‘Huh!’ George muttered. ‘Well then… Sammy… the day has finally come,’ George croaked. An unsteady hand moved toward his face and dabbed a wet trickle of tears with a handkerchief.
The carer stood back and looked at George with utter surprise painted across her face.
‘You tell the detective what he needs to know, there’s a good girl,’ George continued, ‘Daddy… Daddy can finally be at peace.’
Samantha grabbed her father’s trembling hand, she crouched down before him and she began to sob.
The carer was still gaping as she peered between George and Deans, but did not speak.
‘Okay, Samantha,’ Deans said. ‘I think it’s time we left and gave George a little time to explain a few things to this lovely lady.’
He encouraged Samantha away from her father with a few gentle tugs of the arm and he thanked the young carer on their way out.
Chapter 25
‘Where are we going?’ Samantha asked nervously. ‘Are you getting my drink now?’
Deans concentrated on the road ahead; he was doing well over forty within the city limits.
‘Where are you taking me?’ Samantha’s shaking voice asked again.
Deans faced her for the first time since they were back in the car. ‘The Willows,’ he said.
‘No!’ Samantha screamed curling herself into a ball against the car door. ‘Please, no,’ she cried.
Deans accelerated and overtook a car directly into oncoming traffic.
‘Please,’ Samantha pleaded, her hands gripping her kneecaps. ‘Please, no. I can’t go back to the house.’
‘Why?’ Deans yelled, now driving almost twice the legal speed limit.
Samantha tugged at the door handle, but Deans had locked it from his side of the car and there was nothing she could do about it. She cowered further into the seat, legs and knees tucked in against her chin.
‘Why, Samantha?’ Deans shouted.
‘Because…’
‘Because?’
‘He’ll kill me.’
‘Who?’ Deans bellowed. ‘Who will kill you?’
She turned to Deans; her face was a picture of abstract fear. ‘Charlie,’ she screamed.
Deans ground to a halt at a set of red lights. He reached behind her headrest and leaned in close to Samantha. ‘Why will he kill you?’
‘Because…’
‘Tell me,’ Deans shouted.
‘Because Dad stole his money.’
A toot from the car behind reminded Deans where he was. He waved a hand in the rear view mirror, pulled away at a normal speed and came to stop again at the next available space at the side of the road. Samantha was bawling.
‘What money?’ Deans asked calmly.
Samantha looked away out of her window.
‘Samantha, what money?’
She dropped her head into her hands and still sobbing said, ‘Half of it was Dad’s anyway.’
Deans sucked in a deep breath through his teeth and checked outside, looking through each window in turn. Satisfied, he stopped and focussed again on Samantha.
‘If you tell me everything I need to know about the money, and the body, I won’t take you to the house.’
She glimpsed a look his way. ‘Please…’ she said, ‘don’t.’
Deans rummaged through the door pocket and handed Samantha a bunch of tissues. ‘So tell me,’ he said.
She blew her nose and dabbed her face with the paper for a few moments and then she began to speak. ‘Dad… Dad was a banker… in London,’ she sniffled and blew her nose again. ‘… in the sixties.’
‘Go on,’ Deans said.
‘He… he did some favours—’
‘For?’
Samantha looked him in the eye. ‘For bad people.’
Deans clamped his jaw. ‘And?’
‘One of them came after the money.’
Deans rubbed his face and sucked in a knowing breath. ‘Who?’
Samantha’s voice juddered. ‘His name… his name was… Peter.’
Peter? That was the name the old man kept saying.
‘Peter Charleston,’ Samantha continued, her face haunted by the name. ‘Don’t make me go back in there,’ she begged.
‘You won’t. I promise. Go on,’ Deans said, ‘tell me about the money.’
Samantha sniffed and pointed to the side pocket of Deans’ door. He obliged with another fist full of tissues.
‘Dad didn’t take all of it,’ she whimpered. ‘Maybe six.’
‘Six what?’
‘Hundred,’ she replied.
Deans frowned. ‘Six hundred quid?’
Samantha faced him. ‘Thousand… six hundred thousand pounds.’
Fuck me. ‘And you are saying that money is somewhere in that house?’
She did enough to nod and peered out of her window. ‘And Charlie,’ she said.
Chapter 26
Deans had already dropped Samantha at her home and was interrogating the computer system in the office. Peter Charleston, or ‘Charlie-Boy’ as he was known to his associates, was a nasty bastard. Born in 1929, he was on the fringe of east London’s organised crime in the heady, ‘celebrity’ days. He had the foresight others in his circle failed to recognise; an ability to drop off the police radar before the heat set in. He was a survivor. But you would not cross him. And you certainly would not antagonise anyone in his extended ‘family’.
Deans scrolled down the page; luckily, for him, Charlie-Boy was enough of a ‘somebody’ that he had his own Wiki page. Charlie-Boy went missing in 1974. The Met police closed the file soon after – missing – presumed living it up somewhere with Costa in the name. He left a wife and three kids to fend for themselves and melded into obscurity, or so it was believed.
Deans took several long slurps from his coffee. Samantha’s story was becoming all the more compelling.
A team of detectives, ‘The Bravo Squad’, had been assigned to build a case against the bit-players – the cannon fodder, and close the net on the big boys, only; Charlie-Boy was ahead of the game – as he always seemed to be. His reputation as a lackey dwindled just as fast as his status as a ‘brain’ grew. There had been a job – a big one. A Flying Squad balls up to the tune of eight million by today’s prices. Charlie-Boy was instrumental, or so The Bravo Squad understood. But none of the associated shit-bags would finger Charlie-Boy. He was so untouchable the detectives ende
d up nicknaming him, ‘The Prophet.’
Deans read on, but stopped in his tracks by a hyper-linked name written in blue – Chief Inspector George Julian Fenwick.
You are shitting me! He clicked the link.
There were only a few lines of information, but enough. George had headed The Bravo Squad between ’65 and ’67. He was a detective of the highest order – until the botched job forced him to retire before pensionable age and under a cloud of suspicion and intrigue.
Deans leaned back in his seat and cradled his mug. Lose that amount of cash and someone has to pay. On this occasion, it was poor old George.
Poor old George. You sneaky little bastard. No wonder you did not like me sniffing around.
Deans now had a big problem. The scene at The Willows had been shut down, closed, ended as an evidential avenue. The police had left the scene and locked up behind them. That meant any powers to continue searching the premises had ceased the moment they had turned the key and walked away. The police couldn’t just waltz back inside the building willy-nilly. They would need a magistrates’ warrant of entry to gain further access, but not only that, Deans would have to justify what he was looking for… and how he came by the information.
He made himself another coffee and found Savage in the Intel department. They found a quiet corner and Deans announced his plan to return to The Willows.
‘What are you talking about, Deano? It’s finished,’ Savage said in an off-hand manner. ‘Complete the coroner’s file and have done with it.’
‘This isn’t about the Roses,’ Deans said looking over at the other officers behind their desks. He leaned in closer to Savage. ‘I’ve received information regarding…’ he looked back towards the rest of the team, ‘…regarding, the commission of a further serious crime inside that property.’
‘What crime?’ Savage asked.
Deans scratched behind his ear and whispered his response, ‘Another murder.’
Savage stared blankly back at Deans.
‘There’s another body, buried within the grounds,’ Deans continued, ‘and a large quantity of cash stashed somewhere inside.’
Savage’s face became increasingly knotted. ‘What are you talking about?’
Deans grabbed Savage by the arm and pulled him towards the door. ‘Probably best we chat privately?’
‘I think we had,’ Savage said.
They moved to a recently vacated office and Savage stood with his back to the door, arms folded, as Deans spoke.
‘Samantha Fenwick disclosed to me this morning that her father, George Fenwick, used to be a London banker. They came into some money, and someone else came looking for it – Peter Charleston, AKA, Charlie-Boy Charleston – a nineteen sixties gangster who went missing forty years ago. Charlie-Boy came to Bath for his money. But he didn’t leave.’ Deans paused, waiting for Savage to say something, but he didn’t and so he continued. ‘Somewhere inside The Willows we will find Charlie-Boy… and the rest of the stolen money.’
Savage’s mouth was wide and his eyes unblinking.
‘Thing is,’ Deans said, ‘George Fenwick wasn’t a banker. He was a Flying Squad Senior Detective.’
Savage finally moved, closing his mouth and stepping towards Deans. ‘Fuck me, Deano!’
Deans could see the ridges of muscle flexing in Savage’s jaw, and given the considerable padding in that area, that took some doing. Deans needed to jump right to the point.
‘If we obtain a warrant, Samantha will show us where we need to look for the body and the money,’ Deans said.
Savage put a finger into his mouth and chewed the end off a nail, spitting it out onto the floor. He looked at Deans beneath his brows and shook his head.
‘I think…’ he sighed. ‘I think you should go home, mate.’
‘What?’ Deans replied.
‘You’ve come back too soon,’ Savage said. ‘You need to get things straight in your head.’
‘Mick,’ Deans said striding towards Savage. ‘This is real. All I need is the warrant. Samantha and Denise—’
‘Moon?’ Savage barked. ‘It’s that bloody woman feeding your brain with all this shite that is causing all the problems.’
‘What problems?’
‘Oh, come on, Deano – ghosts, spirits, hearing voices… what else do you want me to say? I can go on.’
Deans scowled. ‘Everything Denise has said has so far come to fruition. And just for the record, she doesn’t even know about this… yet.’
Savage pulled a chair from the top of a tall stack at the side of the room. ‘Sit down a moment,’ he said.
Deans obliged.
Savage was tight-lipped and spoke in secretive tones. ‘I can’t keep shielding you, Deano.’
‘From what?’
‘From the bosses who are looking for any excuse to reduce our numbers further.’
‘Meaning?’
‘You are pushing the boundaries, Deano. You are under a bloody great microscope right now, and currently people still want to help you. But don’t for a second think that those same people won’t be the ones after your badge and ready to burn you given half the chance.’
‘And if I’m right?’ Deans asked.
Savage’s stare beat down upon him. ‘We are never going to find out, Deano. The case is closed. And so is the door to that sodding house. Do you understand me?’
Deans glared at Savage. ‘You don’t… you don’t believe any of this… do you?’
Savage scuffed his heels against the floor tiles and shook his head. ‘It’s got nothing to do with belief—’
‘It has everything to do with belief. What don’t you understand?’
Savage narrowed his large brown eyes and leaned against the stack of tables. ‘Andy,’ he said drawing breath. ‘I’m going to spell it out. I wouldn’t be a friend unless I did.’
Deans watched him, unmoving.
‘The bosses…’ Savage said, hesitating, ‘…well, they’ve already approached me. No one else on the team knows this yet, Deano, but we are being disbanded.’ He hooked a finger under his collar and pulled the material away from his skin. ‘I don’t know when, but they are looking…’ Savage turned towards the door and then back to Deans. ‘They are looking for excuses to get rid of officers. Not re-deploy – get shot of – do you understand me, Deano? I have been trying to warn you, but you really need to start listening—’
‘I have been listening,’ Deans cut in. ‘It’s you that refuses to hear.’
Savage grunted and slapped his hands on the side of his thighs. ‘I give up,’ he said. ‘Grab your stuff and go home,’ he scowled. ‘Please, Deano… just go home.’
Deans rose slowly from the chair and Savage smiled reluctantly.
As Deans reached the door, Savage stopped him with a hand on his arm. ‘I’ll pop in and see you in a day or two,’ he said.
Deans did not answer and continued out of the room.
Deans did not go home. He went direct to see Samantha Fenwick and an hour and a half later he was standing before the DI and Savage in the privacy of the boss’s office, with a statement from Samantha detailing the existence of the money, and the body.
‘There,’ Deans said, tossing the statement sheets onto the DI’s desk. He gave Savage a challenging stare. ‘Try to ignore the evidence now.’
Savage scooped the statement from the desk and flicked through the pages so quickly, there was no possible way he was reading any of the detail. ‘What’s this?’ he asked, throwing the pages back onto the desk.
Deans stood tall, his shoulders pinned back. ‘Evidence of a murder, and the concealment of stolen cash within The Willows, Bathwick.’
The DI shook his head and turned to Savage. ‘What? The place where we pulled that couple from?’
‘Yes, Sir,’ Deans said quickly.
Savage rocked his head and extended Deans a raised brow.
‘Let me take a look,’ the DI said.
He began reading the first page, shaking his head. �
��I’m confused. How has all this come about?’
Savage gave Deans a withering stare.
‘It was volunteered, Boss,’ Deans said.
The DI looked at Deans over the top of the statement papers. ‘Do you believe any of this?’ he asked Deans.
‘Absolutely, Sir.’
The DI turned to Savage. ‘Mick?’
Savage groaned. ‘Let me digest it,’ he said, taking the papers back from the DI. ‘I’ll chat to Deano and let you know what I think.’
‘Good,’ the DI said. ‘We had better consider a warrant of entry if we have reasonable grounds to suspect a body is buried somewhere within those grounds.’
Savage dropped his head. Deans smiled.
Chapter 27
Deans sat inside the job car at the rear of the station. He played the conversation repeatedly in his head, but it did not improve with repetition and he knew it was down to him to make the peace. He turned the ignition but did not move. The sound of the engine was a useful muffle from any officers who might walk past and hear his conversation. Denise answered with a stony silence.
‘I’m sorry,’ Deans said immediately. ‘I… I need your help.’
‘I know,’ Denise answered.
‘I was wondering if you could come up to Bath, to help me with my job?’
‘Help you?’
Deans sniffed. ‘I was wrong to question anything about you,’ he said. ‘And I appreciate everything you have done for me.’
‘Okay.’
‘But I really need your help now.’
The line went quiet.
Deans scratched the back of his neck.
‘I can’t do this without you, Denise,’ he said after a moment. ‘Any of this.’
‘What do you need?’
‘Can you come to Bath tonight?’
The line fell silent again.
‘Denise?’ Deans said. ‘Please. You are the only person who understands me now.’
‘No more questioning?’ she asked.
‘None.’
‘You understand and believe what we are – what you can do?’
‘Let’s not push it.’
The Detective Deans Mystery Collection Page 39
