The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  ‘There’s a crisis meeting at five with the Op Engage team,’ the DI said and leaned forward, touching Deans’ arm. ‘I want you to be there too.’ He offered Deans a painful smile.

  Deans blinked a slow wet puddle and nodded.

  The DI reached forward with a tissue and gestured for Deans to wipe his face. ‘I don’t want you to drive over,’ the DI said. ‘I’ll ask one of the team to take you.’

  Deans shook his head. ‘No… I want to be alone.’

  ‘Okay,’ the DI said. ‘In that case I’ll arrange a rail warrant from admin. I don’t want you anywhere near a car.’

  Deans accepted and gulped away his rising emotion.

  The DI stood up and hugged Deans with a tight embrace.

  ‘You take all the time you need, that’s not an issue. But keep me updated and let me know if there is anything I can do.’

  Chapter 34

  Bath to Bristol by train would take no more than fifteen minutes, but it might as well be eternity on this day. Deans found a front-facing seat next to the window and placed his go-bag on the floor beside him. He was wearing sunglasses even though it was practically dark outside. He rested his forehead against the cool misted window, shut his eyes and pictured Maria.

  Several solitary minutes passed by. The clattering pane against his skin was almost therapeutic, but soon he began to sense that somebody was watching him.

  He raised his head and looked around. Nobody was next to him and a couple of office workers in the adjoining aisle seats were fully engrossed in their laptops. Then Deans noticed a woman staring directly at him – four rows ahead, on the opposite side, in a backward facing seat.

  The glasses. He looked back out of his window. The tree-lined River Avon on the other side of the train reflected on his window as the sped by, but he still had that feeling and again glanced four seats ahead. The woman was still looking, but this time smiling as if she knew him.

  Fuck off, lady. I’m having a bad day.

  Her smile grew wider, and he saw her laugh as if she had just heard his thoughts.

  Seriously, Deans silently sneered. Just fuck off.

  The woman’s eyes opened wide and she lifted an arm above her head and brought it down past her ear like a front crawl-swimming stroke. And then she ducked away from view behind the seats.

  The carriage suddenly juddered and slewed and Deans’ face slammed into the hard plastic seat-back in front of him like a swatted insect, as a shrill metallic sound screeched through the entire train and the floor rumbled beneath his feet. Deans was thrown against the window, his back pinned against the glass. Luggage and smaller items flew through the air, crashing into him on their forward trajectory. A boy, just a toddler, somersaulted from somewhere behind him like a rag doll, his body smashing into the seat in front of Deans and his legs cartwheeling over the top, taking him further away from Deans’ despairing reach.

  Move away from the glass, Deans heard, over the sickening din of the carriage grinding along the floor.

  It was as if time had stopped and the voice soothed and reassured him.

  He clawed at the aisle seat, his fingers tearing into the fabric as his body weight dragged him in the other direction. He reached a metal armrest and linked his elbow around the post, hauling himself away from the window with all his strength. He secured his hold, kept his head tight in against the seat-upright and held on for all his might. Then the realisation of the situation and the cacophony of noise invaded his every sense. His body slammed, shook, bent, and buckled, but he still managed to cling on.

  Deans opened his eyes but all he saw was the blue and orange fabric of the seat in front of his face.

  For an eerie moment, there was nothing but a still acrid silence; a delayed reaction to the inevitable cries of anguish, pain, hurt and possibly loss.

  He waited. Prepared for the suffering – but it did not come.

  A cold air whipped around his ankles and a strange, sparkler-like odour came and went in waves. Deans flexed his fingers, and then moved his arms, his head, and then finally his legs. He slowly unfurled his fingers, blood seeped from deep cuts in his hands, but he felt no pain. He twisted his head and looked around.

  The carriage was now on its side and he was more or less in an upright position, but was pinned at the waist by something from below.

  He wriggled to adjust his body so that he could look down. The window was now completely gone, replaced by the broad branch of a tree that to his horror had impaled the seat that he had been occupying. The ‘V’ shape of a smaller branch, the thickness of his arm, was keeping him in place and he could see blood seeping out through his torn work shirt.

  The staring lady, he thought, and tried to move, but failed.

  He looked beyond the thick branch to his legs. His trousers were shredded and one shoe was missing. Blood was everywhere – his blood, but he still felt no pain.

  He took a moment to take in the situation and then the overwhelming realisation sank in that he could hear nothing other than his own groans and attempts at movement.

  He bounced his body and found a little leeway. The abrasive bark of the tree sliced the skin on his waist like a cheese grater. He drew deep breaths and tugged himself up again. This time he felt pain and cried out in agony as the wooden captor finally relinquished its grip.

  He used the side of the twisted seat in front to steady himself and he stepped onto the tree branch. Pain surged upwards through his entire body and he crumpled into a heap on top of the tree, screaming uncontrollably. He gasped several sharp breaths and lifted the flap of his trouser leg – his ankle resembled a pork chop, blooded and splintered with the bone exposed. A deep emotion spewed from the pit of his stomach and he began to weep, but instead of salty tears, he tasted warm metallic liquid. He touched the top of his head. It was hot and tacky. He brought his hand down in front of his face. It was drenched with his blood. He began to panic, his breathing raced away from him and his hands started to claw tightly as his body shut down protecting all but the most important organs. His vision wobbled, his throat filled with vomit, but then he noticed movement up ahead.

  ‘Hello,’ he cried, doing his best to lift an arm above head height. ‘Over… here,’ his fractured voice called out. He saw the person ahead, stop and turn. It was the smiling woman. She appeared unharmed and was still smiling.

  Deans heard a woman’s voice, but the woman’s lips did not move. You will be fine now, she said.

  Deans’ eyes closed under the unbearable weight of his lids. He could no longer speak and as he fought to keep his sight focussed, the smiling woman turned, walked away from him and was lost to sight.

  Chapter 35

  Mick Savage paced the corridor as DI Feather and a doctor conversed just beyond earshot. Savage had been at the hospital for nearly ten hours and to say he was irritated would be a drastic understatement. Perhaps the seven machine-dispensed coffees had something to do with that.

  Deans was inside the adjoining room. He had been out of surgery for almost two hours, but the hospital staff were still refusing to let Savage and DI Feather through to see him, and that was griping Savage more than anything.

  DI Feather walked over to Savage and spoke close in to his ear.

  ‘Okay, he’s going to let us through to see Deano. It’s not good though…’ the DI paused and Savage could see he was struggling to hold back his emotion and so did not interrupt.

  ‘Deano’s on life support,’ the DI said. ‘They don’t know if he is going to make it through.’

  The DI looked away and wiped his eyes. Savage didn’t move.

  ‘I feel responsible,’ the DI continued. ‘I made him take the train. If I hadn’t done that…’

  Savage broke his silence. ‘No one could have envisaged any of this.’

  ‘I guess he’s in the best place,’ the DI said. ‘Are there any next of kin we haven’t yet informed?’

  ‘Is it that bad?’ Savage asked.

  The DI nodded ruefully.
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  Savage shook his head. ‘Maria’s all he’s got left, apart from her parents.’

  They both looked at each other and fell silent for a moment.

  Savage was next to speak. ‘That woman, Denise keeps pestering me to see him.’

  ‘Miss Moon?’

  ‘Yeah.’

  ‘That’s fine,’ the DI said. ‘Where is she now?’

  Savage shrugged. ‘Somewhere here in the hospital. Probably with all the other relatives at the major incident desk.’

  ‘The doctor told me they lost another one during surgery,’ the DI said.

  ‘How many is that now?’ Savage asked.

  The DI’s lips tightened and he frowned. ‘Must be over sixty.’

  Savage shook his head. ‘Unbelievable.’

  ‘I know the transport investigators want to speak to Deano,’ the DI said diverting the conversation away from the fatalities.

  Savage raised his brows. ‘Don’t we all. They can wait their turn.’

  ‘It happened on our patch, Mick. We are going to need to work together on this, and if that means they get to talk to Deans first, then so be it. On that note, the Major Crime Team are asking for support. They want us to lend them ten DCs for the investigation.’

  ‘That’s nearly half of the office—’

  ‘Just until the statements are taken. You know how these things run.’

  ‘What about the district jobs?’ Savage asked.

  The DI glowered at Savage. ‘Mick. It doesn’t get much bigger than this and one our own is involved.’

  The door opened and the doctor’s face appeared in the gap. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘You have five minutes.’

  Savage and DI Feather followed the doctor through a large dark room with electronic equipment resonating loudly in all directions. They continued on to a side room with glass walls.

  Savage could see a heavily bandaged person in the bed connected to half a dozen tubes.

  ‘Is that Deano?’ he whispered.

  ‘You have five minutes,’ the doctor repeated and held a finger to his ear. ‘Just so you know – he can’t hear you.’

  Savage looked at the bank of equipment around Deans and focussed on some sort of pump that was moving up and down in a steady, repetitive sucking motion.

  ‘Is that machine helping him breathe?’ Savage asked.

  The doctor smiled.

  ‘Your colleague is in a dire condition. We can offer him the support to breathe, we can drain away the build-up of fluid, but ultimately, it will come down to his desire to fight. The next few hours are critical.’

  ‘When will he wake up?’ Savage asked softly.

  The doctor smiled with thin lips. ‘I can’t answer that.’

  Chapter 36

  The short, sharp, electronic rhythm of the equipment was the first thing that Deans heard, followed by the muted sound of people talking. It was dark. He wanted to open his eyes, but they refused. He attempted to raise a hand, but it would not respond. He tried his legs – same result. His mouth and throat were unbearably dry. He went to lick his lips but something prevented his tongue from moving, and all the while, the steady, rhythmical beat continued behind his head.

  He picked out one of the voices at the back of the room; it was Savage.

  ‘But how long?’ Savage asked.

  He sounded stressed. Deans usually avoided Savage when he was on one. Today though, he clearly had little choice but to listen to Mick’s rant.

  There was another voice, but one he did not recognise, one with slow southern drawl.

  ‘We don’t know how long,’ the American woman said.

  ‘Come on,’ Savage shouted. ‘This is beginning to fuck me off.’

  Mick, don’t. Wind your bloody neck in and come over here.

  ‘Okay,’ came another, gentler voice. ‘Let’s just all keep calm. None of this will be helping Andy.’

  It was Denise.

  What do I need help with? Deans attempted to grab someone’s attention.

  ‘This is a critical time,’ the American said. Her voice was becoming sharper. ‘The consultant is concerned about the increased GCS.’

  GCS?

  Deans knew that medical terminology. It referred to the Glasgow Coma Scale; the degree to which a person is able to respond to stimulus.

  The beeping behind his head began to increase in speed.

  He felt someone touch the back of his hand and hold on.

  I’m awake, he tried to say. I can hear you. Can you hear me?

  He battled to move the fingers of the hand that was being held.

  Why can’t somebody see that I’m awake?

  Panic gripped him. He wanted to shout. Cry. Do anything to be seen.

  ‘I need to call the consultant,’ the American said. ‘It’s probably best that we continue this conversation at the desk.’

  No, Deans shouted in his head. No, please don’t go. I’m here. I can hear you. I just can’t see you.

  Savage’s voice was the loudest in the room once more.

  ‘I want to speak to the consultant?’ he demanded aggressively.

  ‘Yes, of course. But she may not have the answers you seek,’ the American said doing well to keep calm.

  Deans could feel a downward pressure on the top of his forearm and he heard a sniffle near his ear. It was Savage, but he did not speak. The force upon his arm gently released and the sound of leather-soled shoes on a hard surface moved away from his bed.

  Five or ten more seconds went by, and he felt warmth on his cheek, as if being kissed by soft heated pillows.

  ‘You’re not leaving us, Andy.’

  It was Denise.

  A drop of liquid splashed on his face and his hand was wrapped in an other’s. It was soft and comforting.

  ‘I know you can hear me,’ Denise said softly into his ear.

  I can. I can. Please help me, Denise.

  ‘I’m going to help you,’ she said. ‘Don’t be scared.’

  Deans wanted to cry out, but his body would not allow it. He felt the warmth of Denise’s lips again on his forehead.

  Don’t leave me, he screamed out. Please, don’t go. But nobody responded to his appeals.

  Denise whispered again. ‘We have to go. The consultant is going to see you now. She is a good woman. You are in a safe place.’

  The echo of solemn feet moved slowly away from his bedside.

  ‘Thank you,’ the American said and then hesitated. ‘Well… okay,’ she continued, ‘… but literally one minute, that’s all you have.’

  The talking stopped.

  Deans sensed that someone else was in the room.

  A door closed with the suck of a gas mechanism and a tight solid clunk.

  Deans waited, his hearing finely tuned to his surroundings.

  Maria? Maria? Please, please, please be Maria!

  Footsteps approached, slowly at first, and then with more purpose until they were directly beside him.

  Deans could hear breathing. He waited for a voice and felt air moving across his face. Someone was leaning in close.

  He heard an intake of air and sensed a smiling face.

  He tried to turn his head, but nothing happened, and then he heard a voice. A voice that he recognised.

  ‘Your eyes tell you what you want them to believe. Die you fucker.’

  Chapter 37

  Light poured into Deans’ eyes and he blinked away the burning discomfort. He rolled his head and saw Denise sitting beside him. She immediately rose to her feet and grabbed for his hand. Her face was a mixture of relief and pain.

  Deans tried to speak, but his voice rasped with dryness.

  ‘I’ll grab the nurses,’ Denise said urgently, giving his hand a gentle squeeze.

  As focus gradually returned, Deans took in his surroundings: the narrow bed with side railings, a glass wall and door that Denise had just walked through, and a bank of electronic equipment somewhere behind his head, sounding and bleeping that familiar beat. A mask hissed air
onto his face. He lowered his chin to his chest and saw a weave of plastic tubes sticking out of the back of his hands. He blinked slowly, looked again and his eyes widened.

  Fuck me.

  Denise came back into the room followed swiftly by two nurses, who scurried either side of the bed. One nurse studied the monitors while the other leaned over Deans’ bed and talked to him as if he was a child.

  Denise found a space between one nurse and the IV lines and brushed hair away from Deans’ forehead with her hand.

  Deans looked into her eyes – it appeared that she had not slept for about a week.

  A thought galloped into his head – Maria!

  Deans raised his shoulders from the pillows but a nurse forced him back down with a gentle persuasion.

  ‘Now, we’re not quite ready for that,’ she said. ‘You must stay still. Rest is all you need right now.’

  She fussed with the sheets, tucking him tighter into the mattress like a babe in swaddling clothes.

  Deans hurriedly looked for Denise. She was back on the plastic chair beside his bed.

  She forced a downwards smile.

  Deans shut his eyes and rolled his head back into position.

  The bleep, bleep, bleep of the monitoring equipment was deafening. He tried to speak, but failed to produce enough energy to be heard above the hiss of the facemask.

  A nurse leaned over and spoke close to his face. She had a caring smile.

  ‘That’s all looking really nice,’ she beamed. ‘We will notify the doctor that you are awake and you’ll see her soon.’ She touched his shoulder and again smiled.

  Deans did his best to nod.

  Denise stood up and held his hand once more.

  Deans ushered her hand toward his face.

  ‘No,’ Denise said. ‘You should keep that on.’

  Deans pleaded with his eyes.