The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  ‘Okay,’ Denise said.

  ‘Okay?’ Deans repeated.

  ‘Okay.’

  Denise arrived in Bath and met Deans at the train station. Any thoughts of awkwardness evaporated as she hugged him as if it was the last time they would see each other. ‘Thank you,’ Deans said taking her bag.

  ‘I wanted to see the house,’ she said gazing deeply into his eyes. ‘And I needed to see you. Will you take me there now?’

  ‘We can’t go inside today,’ Deans said. ‘An entry warrant is booked from eight a.m. tomorrow. We’ll have twenty-four hours to do whatever is necessary from then.’

  ‘Take me there now,’ Denise said. She did not appear to be in a negotiating mood.

  Deans shrugged and took the lead. The Willows was just a ten-minute stroll from the station, however, today with the mass of Christmas shoppers, it turned out to be at least twice that.

  They approached the terraced row of properties, Denise walking between Deans and the building line. He had not told her the address, neither had he indicated where exactly the property was, but as they neared, he noticed Denise begin to fidget. Deans himself shivered as a cold air penetrated the back of his neck. He did not talk, and neither did Denise.

  He saw the front door, but instead of indicating that they had arrived, he continued walking beyond the entrance.

  ‘Where are you going?’ Denise asked, stopping directly outside of The Willows.

  Deans stopped and beamed a smile. ‘Forgot where I was for a moment.’

  She leered at him. ‘Were you testing me?’

  Deans grinned and joined her as she looked up at the front of the building. Fingers of energy tickled the back of Deans’ neck and he shook away the unwelcome itch.

  ‘Don’t step any closer,’ Denise said touching Deans’ hand. ‘He’s drawing us in.’

  Deans scowled – he did have the strangest of sensations enticing him to walk forwards, like some weird vertigo tempting him to step a little closer to the edge, but it was Denise who walked towards the house.

  ‘No,’ she said all of a sudden in a loud and defiant voice.

  Deans watched on with interest.

  ‘No we will not,’ Denise said angrily, flapping her arms and shaking her body like she was shaking rain from a wet jacket.

  She turned to Deans with a serious look. ‘This is going to be interesting,’ she said.

  ‘Interesting?’

  ‘Oh! He’s an angry soul,’ Denise said. ‘Very angry indeed.’

  Deans noticed a pedestrian taking a wide berth of them both.

  ‘Perhaps we should do this once we are inside the house tomorrow,’ he said.

  She raised an uncompromising brow. ‘He will be waiting for us,’ she said, her voice guarded. ‘This won’t be like anything you’ve experienced before.’

  Deans shrugged. ‘Bring it on.’

  ‘Oh,’ Denise replied. ‘He intends to.’

  Chapter 28

  Denise woke him up just after six. He had not made it from the sofa. He strangled the bottle of whisky by the neck and stuffed it away at the back of the cabinet.

  ‘Is that every night?’ Denise asked.

  Deans ran his tongue along the cracked ridges of his lips and nodded.

  ‘That has to stop. It won’t help,’ she said.

  Deans shuffled over to the kettle and filled it with water.

  ‘How much rest are you getting?’ Denise asked.

  Deans shrugged. ‘The usual.’

  ‘It’s not enough,’ she said and removed two cups from a cupboard, placed them in front of Deans and then went back inside the unit and pulled out another half-consumed bottle of whisky. ‘This won’t bring Maria back,’ she said holding the bottle in the air between them.

  ‘No,’ Deans said. ‘It won’t. But if it helps me to relax—’

  ‘I heard you relaxing, remember?’

  Fair comment. He chewed the inside of his lip and watched Denise fussing around the kitchen.

  ‘Maria was abducted,’ he said.

  Denise stopped what she was doing and stared at him.

  ‘Was it Ash Babbage?’ she asked.

  Deans shook his head. ‘Couldn’t have been. He was in police custody. But those things he said to me… practically admitted to ruining my life.’

  Denise did not react.

  Deans approached and took Denise by the hand. ‘I want you to contact Maria.’

  Denise placed her cup on the breakfast bar and stared at him intently. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I need to know… I’m ready to know.’

  ‘Okay,’ Denise whispered, ‘Okay.’

  She patted the bar stool and Deans sat down. He watched her for a moment as she prepared herself. She took a number of deep breaths and appeared to reach a meditative state. He could see her lips moving, but heard no words. She dipped her head and her long dark hair fell forwards.

  A vice-like pressure crushed down on Deans’ skull, he grabbed the sides of his head, but just as quickly, it went again.

  Denise looked up at Deans through her strands of hair.

  ‘What?’ he asked at once. The muscles in his stomach tightened and cramped.

  ‘I can’t reach her,’ Denise said.

  ‘But I felt—’

  ‘You may have felt the presence of the guardians.’

  Deans stood up from his stool. ‘Then Maria is still alive.’

  Denise broke eye contact and nibbled the nail of her thumb.

  ‘Denise?’

  She shook her head. ‘It means I cannot reach Maria.’

  Deans stood beside Denise and grabbed for her hand. ‘Denise. Is Maria still alive?’

  He felt the pressure release from her grasp and she turned away.

  ‘Denise. What did you pick up?’

  She shook her head and pulled her hair away from her face, her eyes faltering.

  Deans let go of her hand and took a step backwards.

  ‘I couldn’t reach her,’ Denise repeated. ‘I’m sorry.’

  Deans watched Denise for a quiet moment. His eyelids were heavy and sullen as he tracked her movement in the kitchen. She was wiping the surfaces down and tidying the mess on the worktops. His body was saggy and defeated.

  She noticed him staring, stopped what she was doing and smiled. ‘What?’ she asked. ‘What?’ she said again with a small titter.

  ‘I had the dream again,’ he said.

  Her smile dimmed. ‘The nightmare?’ she asked and nibbled the side of a Digestive biscuit.

  Deans nodded. He blinked slowly, but did not take his eyes off Denise.

  ‘I know who was holding the knife,’ he said.

  Her chewing slowed; she leaned against the side of the worktop and peered at him. ‘In the dream?’

  ‘I forced myself to view the dream to the end,’ he said, ‘like you told me to do. I know who was with Ash Babbage.’

  Denise swallowed her biscuit and wiped crumbs from her chin. ‘In the dream,’ she said again.

  Deans shrugged. ‘I haven’t worked that part out yet.’

  ‘Well, come on,’ Denise smiled. ‘Don’t keep it to yourself. Tell me, is it someone I know?’

  Deans looked blankly at Denise. He saw her face drop in a heartbeat and her eyes grow wider.

  ‘Me?’ she uttered, taking a very subtle slide backwards against the worktop.

  Deans didn’t move.

  Denise blinked feverishly and began to shake her head as she tried to speak.

  ‘You,’ Deans said quietly.

  ‘But it wasn’t…’ Denise spluttered – her voice was now panicked. ‘I’m… it… it wasn’t me,’ she pleaded.

  ‘You said I had an ability,’ Deans said calmly, ‘so, please explain to me why I can see you in my dream and why you are killing my wife?’

  ‘Yes, I know I said that,’ Denise said back-peddling, ‘but that doesn’t mean you are right about the dream.’ She scooped a handful of her hair and pinned it behind an ear. Her eyes
were wide and scared, but she refused to look at him. She fiddled with an ornament on the worktop and did all she could to avoid eye contact.

  Deans squinted and waited.

  Twenty more seconds went by, and then she caught his eye. ‘You are lying,’ he said.

  Denise shook her head and looked down. ‘Oh, come on, Andy,’ she said down to her feet. ‘Do you seriously think I would have anything to do with Ash, or Maria’s disappearance?’ She looked up at him; her eyes moved quickly around his face.

  Deans sized her up and slowly shook his head. ‘You’re not convincing me,’ he said. ‘Why wouldn’t you have anything to do with Babbage? He was working with you in the shop. He was your apprentice… you were his teacher. It makes obvious sense.’

  Her shoulders dropped and she reached for the worktop to prevent herself from falling. She turned sideways to Deans and leaned on the counter. Her hair dropped forwards over her face and she remained in that position.

  Deans raised himself from the seat and moved towards her as if his feet were on autopilot. He stood immediately beside her and grabbed her arm.

  Denise looked up at him; her eyes were puffy and distant.

  ‘Tell me,’ Deans said gripping her arm tightly.

  Denise shook her head with short, sharp movements. ‘It’s not…’ she dropped her head again.

  ‘Denise,’ Deans shouted, and shook her by the arm.

  She faced the other way and began to weep.

  Deans sensed his anger building. ‘Denise,’ he said again through gritted teeth.

  She flicked around and faced him. Her features were warped and pained. Deans shook her again and this time she gave in.

  Deans let go and took several backwards steps. He gawped at Denise and felt his stomach twist like a knot.

  ‘It wasn’t Maria.’ Denise whispered, as tears dropped off her chin. ‘It was my mother.’

  Deans was open mouthed. He looked her up and down. ‘What was your mother?’

  Denise wiped her face with her sleeve and peered over at the table. ‘Can I sit down please? I need to sit down.’

  Deans moved aside, allowing Denise to pass him and followed close behind her over to the kitchen table. She scraped one of the chairs out along the stone tiled floor, fell into the chair and sank into her hands.

  Deans pulled out the seat opposite and sat down, staring at Denise.

  ‘I’ve never told a soul,’ she whispered beneath her shroud of hair. ‘I have carried this silent torment with me for over forty years.’ She looked up and stared at Deans.

  He didn’t move. Didn’t speak.

  ‘My mother was sick,’ she uttered and looked down at the table, fixing her stare at an imaginary point halfway between them. ‘I mentioned to you previously that we used to live together…’

  ‘Your mum was a psychic, she taught you things when you were young. Yes, I remember what you said, but what does this have to do with Maria?’

  ‘It doesn’t,’ Denise mouthed. She looked Deans in the eye and held her hands together as if in prayer. ‘Your ability…’ Denise hesitated and shook head. ‘Well, it obviously extends beyond your personal loved ones.’

  Deans’ brow furrowed deeply. ‘I don’t understand,’ he said.

  ‘You have manifested dreams – dreams so powerful that you have somehow identified a secret in me so deep, I was certain it would follow me to the grave.’

  ‘You sliced your mother’s throat?’ Deans asked in astonishment.

  Denise shook her head. ‘No. Mother was sick, very sick, but because of her unwavering beliefs she refused to be seen by a traditional doctor and so self-medicated with medicines and potions she created herself.’ Denise stopped speaking and her eyes glazed over.

  Deans was transfixed.

  Denise covered her face with her hands and then swept her hair back off her face. She took a number of deep breaths and looked back at Deans.

  ‘Towards the end,’ she said, ‘she was too ill to take the medicine herself and had me do it for her.’

  Deans studied her kinesic cues – testing to see if her body language was telling him something else.

  ‘How old were you?’ he asked.

  Denise sucked in a deep breath and held her eyes shut for a long moment.

  ‘Fifteen,’ she answered and lowered her head.

  ‘Go on,’ Deans said.

  Denise was wilting lower into her seat.

  ‘There was a liquid,’ she said. ‘A vial. Mother had told me about it before she became too ill.’ Denise looked away into space. ‘She told me to give it to her when things got bad. Said it would take her pain away…’ Denise stopped and dabbed a tissue around her eyes. ‘I was only young,’ she said breathlessly. ‘I didn’t know what I was giving her. I just wanted Mum to get better.’

  ‘Poison?’ Deans said.

  ‘I didn’t know,’ Denise said, looking up at Deans through rheumy eyes. ‘I was fifteen. I couldn’t have known she would die.’

  Deans watched her; considered her subtle gestures. ‘Were the police involved?’ he asked.

  Denise hunched forwards. ‘There was a post mortem. That’s when they found all of the cancer—’

  Deans blinked and gazed at her. ‘And why they didn’t look any further.’

  He heaved a deep breath and leaned back in his chair. He traced her face and slowly shook his head. He waited twenty, maybe thirty more seconds and then leaned forwards, resting his forehead in the palm of his hands, his elbows drilling into the edge of the table.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Denise said.

  Deans held a hand up to stop her talking as he continued to support his heavy head with the other.

  ‘That’s why I am in your dream,’ Denise pressed. ‘I promise… it has nothing to do with Ash Babbage, or Maria.’

  Deans sucked in a large breath through his teeth and peered up at Denise. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘Okay… have you ever told anyone else… family members, best friend whilst drunk… vicar?’

  ‘No one,’ she replied without hesitating. ‘I’m ashamed of what I have done, but it was mother’s wish…’ Denise stopped and bowed her head. ‘I know you have a duty to do.’

  Deans planted his hands flat onto the kitchen table. ‘It stays with me… but you must promise never to tell anyone, and if you do – you never told me – alright?’ His eyes glared wide.

  ‘I’ll take whatever punishment I deserve,’ Denise said. ‘I have lived with this agony for a very long time.’

  ‘And you will have to live with it for a bit longer. There will be no punishment. There will be no further mention of it, do you understand me? I’m going out on a very large limb here, because without you, there is no Maria.’

  Denise stared at Deans for a moment. ‘You would do that for me?’

  ‘No… I would do that for Maria.’

  Chapter 29

  Deans was quiet for the remainder of the morning. Denise gave him space and did not place him under any pressure to talk, which he appreciated. On reflection, it was going to be tough to hear about Maria either way, but at least there was still hope.

  They did not say much on their way to the station, each in their own time and zone. Deans decided against telling Denise that she may receive a frosty reception from the rest of his team. He thought she might change her mind about visiting The Willows in the face of a room of disbelievers.

  Deans formally introduced Denise to his team and to CSI Parsons, who had been volunteered to join the search party. Deans took a backwards step and watched them interact with Denise, who herself was coping with the situation with impeccable poise and decorum.

  Deans briefed his team. ‘She doesn’t know it yet,’ he said, ‘but I’m collecting Samantha Fenwick and bringing her to the scene. The rest of you head straight for the property and we’ll see you there.’

  ‘Where do we begin?’ Nathan Parsons asked.

  ‘Don’t worry, Samantha will show us everything we need to know,’ Deans said. He noticed Savage sta
ring at Denise, and it was not a friendly look. ‘Denise will be coming with me,’ Deans said talking directly at Savage.

  ‘I’m sorry,’ Parsons said. ‘But why is she here?’

  Before Deans had a chance to reply, Denise was already on her feet and responding. ‘I am going to keep you all safe,’ she said.

  Savage made a ‘Pfft’ noise between his lips and for the first time in five minutes, he spoke. ‘From what, exactly?’

  Denise faced him and smiled sweetly. ‘There is a determined spirit contained within that house. One that has already shown the desire to kill.’

  ‘Pah!’ DC Mitchell spluttered and began to giggle, along with several others.

  ‘You lot do not have to believe it,’ Deans said standing beside Denise. ‘But I’m not prepared to go inside that house without Denise being with us.’

  ‘Come on, you lot,’ Savage huffed now also standing up. ‘Down your drinks and let’s get this friggin freak show over and done with.’

  Deans could not get a response from the Travis Street Flats intercom, but had made his way inside the building thanks to a postal worker making a delivery to a different flat. He banged on Samantha’s door, but got no reply. He tried again. And again, and shouted through the letterbox but without any answer. He pushed on the door. It was locked.

  ‘She must be inside,’ he said to Denise. ‘All the bolts are across.’

  ‘We can still do it,’ Denise said softly. ‘I can find you what you need. I will ask the spirit to show me.’

  Deans flapped his arms in frustration. ‘Fine,’ he said. ‘Seems like we have little choice. I’ll write her a note. When she wakes up she can make her own way down to us.’

  He scribbled on a torn-out sheet of his day-book and pushed it under the door. He smiled at Denise. ‘She’ll come. I’ve promised to buy her five more bottles of cider.’

  Fifteen minutes later, they were all inside The Willows, minus Samantha Fenwick. Parsons was kitted-out in a white forensic suit and all eyes were on Denise.

  ‘Okay,’ Deans said. ‘Samantha said in her statement that the body was buried in the back garden.’

  ‘Bit clichéd,’ Savage said. ‘But we need to start somewhere I suppose. Come on, let’s dig it up and get the hell out of here.’