The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  She looked over her shoulder, smiled a nod, and gently lifted the plastic shroud from his face.

  ‘Just for a moment then, okay?’ she said. ‘I don’t want to get into trouble.’

  ‘Maria?’ Deans asked with sandpaper abrasiveness.

  He saw her face change and she shook her head.

  ‘I don’t know anything. Nobody has said a thing to me,’ Denise whispered.

  Deans bunched his eyes.

  ‘You have generated a lot of attention,’ Denise said. ‘That was a terrible accident… one of the worst…’ She paused and raked her hair to one side of her face. ‘Andy,’ she said. ‘You were the only survivor in your carriage.’

  Those final moments on the train all of a sudden saturated his mind.

  ‘No,’ he mumbled. ‘The lady.’

  Denise lifted one of his hands and stroked it with loving softness.

  ‘No, flower,’ she said. ‘Nobody else made it out.’

  A pain raced behind his eyes and jabbed like hot needles. He winced as he croaked, ‘Lady… she saved me.’

  Denise frowned for a moment or two.

  ‘What lady?’ she asked, searching his face.

  Deans could picture her clearly in his mind, but he lacked the energy to answer.

  For a long minute Denise said nothing. Just watched him and held his hand.

  Deans could tell that Denise was deep in thought.

  ‘Some of us,’ she said eventually, checking over her shoulder, ‘well, some of us are fortunate enough to have seen our Earth Angels.’ She smiled warily and came within inches of his face.

  ‘I’m not saying that’s who you saw, but if you did, then that is why you are still alive… and that makes you very special, indeed.’

  Deans stared up at the ceiling. Moisture came to his eyes.

  ‘How many?’ he asked.

  Denise squeezed his hand a little tighter.

  Deans rolled his head and looked at her. ‘How many?’ he repeated.

  ‘Sixty-three,’ Denise replied to the floor.

  ‘Dead?’ Deans asked.

  She confirmed this without having to say a word.

  Deans closed his eyes and rolled his head back the other way.

  ‘The majority made it out from the other carriages,’ Denise said. ‘But yours…’ her voice tailed away.

  Deans recalled the little boy tumbling through the air, and his chest ached with sorrow. He did not move for a long while and then he turned back to Denise.

  ‘My injuries?’ he asked.

  Denise leaned back in the chair, not missed by Deans who saw the symbolic distancing from the question.

  ‘I’m sure the doctor will give you the full details,’ she said quietly.

  ‘Tell me,’ Deans demanded. He was not prepared to wait for the medical bumph.

  Deans saw her watching him warily. He reached out with his hand. ‘Tell me.’

  ‘You have been in a coma,’ she said.

  ‘Coma?’

  Denise cupped his hand. ‘Four days.’

  His head felt suddenly as heavy as a boulder and sank further into the pillow. Tears formed and ran down the sides of his cheeks but he made no attempt to wipe them away.

  ‘There was a large impact to your head,’ Denise said after a quiet moment. Her hand was grasping tightly onto his. ‘Your brain swelled… They… We…’ she hesitated. ‘We didn’t know what was going to happen. They put you into an induced coma.’

  Deans stared up at the ceiling. ‘Voices,’ he said breathlessly.

  ‘Voices?’ Denise repeated. ‘Well, I think that’s entirely possible, especially when you’re coming out of the coma.’

  Deans shook his head. ‘Dream,’ he said. ‘Bad dream.’

  ‘It’s not a dream, sweetheart,’ Denise said stroking his hand. ‘This is really happening.’

  ‘No,’ Deans said, struggling to lift his upper torso from the mattress. ‘I keep getting… dream.’

  ‘You keep having a dream?’

  Deans nodded the best he could. His eyelids were becoming heavy.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Denise shrugged. ‘I didn’t think you could dream during a coma. Come on,’ she said putting his arm down alongside his thigh. ‘Rest now. Let’s pop this mask back on before the nurse tells me off.’

  Denise replaced the oxygen mask and within minutes Deans was sleeping.

  Denise observed Deans for a long while. She monitored his chest rising and falling in time with the sound of the equipment. She could see his eyes flickering beneath his lids; he was dreaming, or at least, that was how it appeared.

  She noticed the time, seven-twelve p.m.

  The journey back home to North Devon felt long at the best of times, let alone in the dark, when she was feeling completely exhausted. She had not let go of Deans’ hand for the last two hours as her thumb softly carved an arc on the top of his knuckle.

  She sniffed and looked back towards the nurses and smiled as she caught one of them looking back at her.

  Deans was remarkable. In all her years of alternative therapy and exploring the gift, she had never come across someone of Deans’ potential, and the best bit was, he did not realise it. If he had seen an Earth Angel, then the guardians had truly selected him.

  She heaved a deep sigh. If he was not so bloody-minded and reticent, she could help him develop his skills. If he could recover enough from his injuries, then perhaps being alive would be all the evidence he needed.

  DS Savage shattered her thoughts as he bounded through the doorway with a nurse in his wake trying to slow him down.

  ‘He’s sleeping,’ Denise said, letting go of Deans’ hand for the first time, ‘…but he’s fine.’

  ‘What did he say?’ Savage asked impatiently.

  He had asked the same thing when Denise called him to say Deans had woken.

  She gave the same answer. ‘Not much. He’s still very weak.’

  A different spluttering noise came from beneath Deans’ mask. They all looked towards the bed.

  ‘He might be coming around again,’ the nurse said. She looked at Savage. ‘Please don’t pressurise him to talk.’

  Savage held his hands up in a why are you saying that to me way.

  ‘No problem. Thank you,’ Denise said.

  Savage moved closer to the bed.

  ‘He can hear us,’ Denise said to Savage’s back.

  ‘What?’ Savage gasped, facing her with a horrified glare.

  ‘He said he heard talking in the room – voices,’ Denise beamed.

  ‘What… everything?’ Savage glared.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Denise said.

  ‘Is that possible?’ Savage asked, ‘I mean… how much could he hear?’

  ‘I don’t know,’ Denise repeated.

  Savage pinched his nose and turned his back to Denise. ‘Shit,’ he shrieked.

  Deans gurgled something incoherently from beneath the mask.

  Savage and Denise rushed to either side of the bed. Deans’ eyes were rolling frantically beneath his closed lids.

  Denise lifted his hand from the mattress and spoke. ‘I’m still here, flower. You are safe. Your friend Mick is here now too.’

  Deans’ breathing became more urgent and his upper body began to jerk in a violent juddering motion.

  ‘What’s happening?’ Savage yelled anxiously.

  ‘I don’t know,’ Denise replied. ‘He said he was having dreams of some kind. Some sort of nightmare.’

  ‘Is this alright… should we get a nurse?’ Savage asked more urgently, but before Denise could answer, Savage was already running out of the room and calling for help.

  Deans was now thrashing his arms wildly. A loud buzz sounded from the equipment and a nurse came rushing into the room.

  ‘Please move aside,’ she said.

  ‘He’s having a bloody fit,’ Savage said, gripping the sides of his face.

  ‘It’s okay, this happens,’ the nurse said in a vain attempt to reassure the o
thers.

  ‘He said he’s been having bad dreams,’ Denise said.

  ‘I doubt it,’ the nurse replied, fiddling with the control box behind Deans’ head. ‘His brain activity has been controlled by these machines.’

  Denise looked at Savage and shook her head behind the nurse’s back.

  The nurse pressed something on the control panel and the machine stopped buzzing. She turned around with her arms outstretched to the side and walking back towards the door, scooped up Denise and Savage.

  ‘I think that will be it for the night, thank you,’ she said. ‘You can come back again tomorrow. But for now he must have total rest.’

  ‘But I’ve only just got here,’ Savage implored.

  ‘Mr Deans needs complete rest,’ the nurse insisted using her arms to usher Savage backwards.

  ‘Come on,’ Denise said. ‘Let’s leave Andy alone.’

  Chapter 38

  The guard’s keys rattled and clanked and all eyes turned to the secure dock.

  A burly prison officer walked into the courtroom trailing an arm from which Ash Babbage was connected.

  DC Sarah Gold saw Babbage’s grin and faced forwards once again with a taste of disgust in her mouth.

  ‘Court rise,’ the usher called out, and everyone stood to their feet as the judge entered the room and took his seat behind the raised bench.

  DC Gold returned to her chair and DS Jackson hovered just a moment longer on his feet, before following suit.

  ‘Your Honour,’ the Court Clerk said. ‘This is the mention hearing of Mr Ash Babbage, currently remanded at her Majesty’s pleasure awaiting trial for the murder of Miss Amy Poole.’

  The judge looked over the top of his glasses at Babbage sitting fifty feet away in the secure dock.

  ‘Yes,’ the judge said.

  The defence barrister stood to her feet.

  ‘Your Honour,’ she said with a slight bow. ‘The defence call this case for the immediate release of Ash Babbage—’

  ‘On what grounds?’ the judge interceded.

  ‘On the grounds that the prosecution have a catastrophic failing with their case and a questionable ability to see it through to trial,’ the defence barrister continued.

  The judge removed his glasses, placed them down onto the bench in front of him and peered at the Crown Prosecution Service barrister.

  ‘Is that so, Mr Gardner?’ the judge asked.

  Mr Gardner, for the prosecution, stood gingerly from his seat and said with a bowed head. ‘Quite possibly, Your Honour.’

  ‘Quite possibly?’ Judge Meeks repeated. ‘Need I remind you of the tax payer’s finance funding this and any subsequent hearing? I do not wish to hear “quite possibly”, I need to hear factual and educated reasoning to enable me to deliver swift and fair justice, Mr Gardner.’

  The CPS barrister clamped his jaw. ‘Yes, Your Honour.’

  ‘So, would you like to address me again with the pertinent issues that affect this case, that may well influence any decisions I am minded to make.’

  Mr Gardner turned to the long table behind him – to where Gold and Jackson were sitting.

  He looked first at Gold and then at Jackson, who held his stare.

  ‘Your Honour,’ Mr Gardner said. ‘It came to my attention very recently that crucial evidence in favour of the police and crown prosecution case had…’ he paused and looked at Jackson again.

  Jackson gestured with a subtle wave, encouraging Mr Gardner to continue.

  Mr Gardner coughed into his hand.

  ‘Yes, Mr Gardner,’ the judge said impatiently. ‘I am eager to hear about this missing crucial evidence.’

  ‘Of course, Your Honour.’

  Mr Gardner took several sips from a plastic cup of water and steadied himself by his fingertips on the lip of the desk.

  ‘It would appear that the evidence has been destroyed, Your Honour,’ Mr Gardener said guardedly.

  Judge Meeks stared down his nose at the barrister.

  ‘You had better furnish me with more detail, Mr Gardner,’ the judge said placing his pen down upon his note pad.

  The CPS barrister turned behind him again and glared at Sarah Gold who quickly looked away.

  ‘It would seem,’ Mr Gardner said, ‘that the police have suffered a monumental failing with their detained property system, resulting in the release and destruction of several key exhibits.’

  The judge frowned and directed his attention onto DC Gold and DS Jackson.

  ‘It is not the police bringing this case to trial, Mr Gardner; it is the Crown Prosecution Service. So what is to be done with regard to this missing evidence?’

  ‘A detailed investigation is underway, Your Honour and we hope—’

  ‘I am not interested in hope, Mr Gardner,’ the judge said in a firm voice. ‘Facts. Facts and evidence, Mr Gardener. When is the trial listed to go ahead?’ Judge Meeks requested to the court clerk sitting at a desk immediately in front of the judge’s bench.

  ‘June, next year, Your Honour,’ the Clerk said in response.

  ‘Very well,’ the judge said. ‘Ash Babbage, please stand.’

  The cell officer and Babbage both rose to their feet.

  ‘You have heard the application made by your defence barrister,’ the judge said, staring at Babbage above the top of his glasses. ‘On hearing the facts presented to me today, I agree that you should be released from remand with immediate effect, pending a review of the prosecution case no later than ninety days from today. In that time, you will remain on bail to return here for your trial. You will be subjected to a strict curfew of residence and any failure to abide by the conditions of this bail will render you liable to a further incarceration. Do you understand?’

  ‘Thank you, Your Honour,’ Babbage said compliantly from the back of the room.

  ‘Very well,’ Judge Meeks said. ‘Is that everything?’

  ‘Thank you, Your Honour,’ the clerk said and Judge Meeks stood.

  ‘Court rise,’ the clerk called out and everybody stood as the judge disappeared through a door behind the bench.

  DC Gold noticed Jackson nodding to the defence barrister. She continued watching as Jackson turned and looked back towards the dock.

  Babbage beamed a wide grin and shared a joke with the cell officer who also laughed.

  Gold peered at Jackson again, who unaware she was looking, smiled at Babbage who was led away from the court by the dock officer.

  Chapter 39

  The light of the room seared the back of his eyes. Deans blinked with discomfort and lifted his head from the hot, sticky pillow.

  ‘Hello, mate,’ he heard from nearby. It was the unmistakable voice of Mick Savage.

  ‘They said you would probably come around this morning.’

  Deans lifted his hand and dropped it onto his face. He was no longer wearing the mask, and there were no sounds of beeping machinery anywhere near him. Apart from Savage’s tones, the room was blissfully quiet.

  ‘Aargh!’ Deans screamed. ‘What the hell is that?’

  ‘That’ll be your busted ankle, mate,’ Savage said.

  ‘What the…’ Deans squirmed and wriggled in the bed. He was in a stiff and heavy cast right up to and beyond his knee.

  ‘You needed an op,’ Savage said. ‘Six pins and enough metal to drag you to the bottom of a swimming pool,’ he grinned.

  ‘Hello, Andy.’ There was another, female voice in the room.

  Deans turned his head towards the voice. It was DC Gold.

  ‘Sarah! Hi,’ Deans said.

  She smiled and Deans stared for a moment too long at her full, pouting lips.

  ‘Deano,’ Savage said, coming alongside the bed. ‘Good to see you my friend.’ He leaned over the rails and gave Deans a solid hug. ‘So, did you see the light and all that?’ Savage jested.

  Deans frowned.

  ‘No angels then, pearly gates?’ Savage continued.

  Deans’ eyes widened and he looked anxiously around the room
. ‘Where is Denise?’ he asked.

  ‘I think she is back in Devon,’ Sarah Gold said.

  Deans groaned and shuffled himself higher up the pillow and into a more comfortable position.

  ‘Don’t worry about her, Deano, not when you’ve got Miss Gold sitting here next to you,’ Savage said, brushing invisible fluff from the lapel of his suit jacket.

  Deans turned to Sarah and considered her for a moment.

  ‘Why are you here, Sarah?’ he asked.

  She fidgeted and broke eye contact.

  ‘I wanted to see you?’ she said coyly.

  Deans stared at her and shook his head. ‘Come on?’

  Sarah quickly looked away. Something was wrong.

  ‘Do you need to speak to me privately?’

  Sarah quickly caught his eye once more.

  Deans glanced towards the door. ‘Mick, give us a few minutes, would you, please?’

  ‘Yeah, suppose,’ Savage replied as if he were a spare part at a party. He shuffled over to the door, stopped and looked back.

  Deans signalled for Savage to leave with a backwards swat of the hand and waited until he had closed the door.

  ‘What’s up, Sarah?’ Deans asked, offering her his hand.

  Her face puckered and twitched, causing a little dimple to appear in her cheek which he had never noticed before.

  She edged forward and took his hand but did not speak.

  Deans waited.

  ‘Sarah?’

  ‘It’s gone,’ she said quietly.

  Deans blinked. ‘Sorry, what has gone?’ he asked screwing his face up.

  Her eyes darted down to the left.

  Deans scowled. Whatever it was, it was not going to be good.

  Come on, Sarah, I’m feeling like shit.

  She pulled away from him a little, but Deans still holding her hand, encouraged her back toward the rail of his bed.

  ‘Sarah?’

  She dipped her head and peered at him for ten seconds before she answered.

  ‘The evidence,’ she said quietly. ‘The case.’

  Deans glared at her. She surely did not mean…?

  She looked down at her feet and continued speaking.

  ‘The phone… the photos… forensics…’

  Deans sat bolt upright. His jaw was on his chest.