The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  ‘I’ll chew it over.’

  ‘Okay,’ Denise said. ‘Now this is important. Ask yourself what you need?’ she said walking to the curtains and pulling them closed. ‘What you really need.’

  Deans followed the swirled pattern in the Artex ceiling and deliberated on the question. What did he really need? He needed Maria, and he needed his old life back – the long and late shifts, the uncertainty of conception, a wife in need of his support, a life lacking time and energy – his life – not the life of a pseudo-psychic detective, bouncing from one disaster to the next.

  Denise was walking around his prone body and every now and then making eye contact with a smile, her hands waving in small flat circles.

  ‘You said Amy had connected to you,’ Deans said.

  Denise continued around him slowly wafting her hands six inches above his torso.

  ‘I need her back,’ Deans said. ‘I need to speak to Amy Poole.’

  ‘You need repairing,’ Denise said, not responding to his requests. ‘Your energy channels are haywire. You are like a tight ball of rubber bands. You need to loosen up.’ She walked behind his head and placed her hands gently onto his shoulders.

  He could feel a light tingling pressure through the material of his shirt.

  She breathed through her nose with long, slow, deliberate uniformity. Her fingertips pressed into his muscles with increasing firmness. She placed her hands above the centre of his chest.

  He caught her eye, and she smiled a bless you. He could feel penetrating bodily warmth, even though her hands were inches away from touching him.

  ‘Don’t fight it,’ she said softly. ‘Let the energy flow.’

  Her hands were sending rods of tenderness deep into his body. His eyes grew heavy, the muscles of his jaw slackened and the sound of her rhythmic breath close to his face sent him into a near-hypnotic state of consciousness.

  His thoughts raked from Maria’s face to the streets of Bath where she went missing, to Babbage, and finally to the pebble ridge at Sandymere Bay where he was now looking out onto the incoming tide and a warm dipping sunset above the horizon.

  ‘Good,’ Denise said quietly. ‘Now, concentrate on nothing else.’

  The sound of rolling waves filled his mind. It was as if he was there, back on the ridge. His trance deepened and he could feel himself slipping into a comforting sleep.

  He steadied his feet on the pebbles and became aware of someone else beside him. He turned and saw Amy Poole. She was looking out into the fading light of the sunset. Her skin emitted a radiant hue and her long platinum hair billowed gently in the breeze. Deans reached out and touched the side of her face. She was beautiful. Amy, he thought.

  She turned and smiled with angelic reassurance.

  Deans heard his voice talking. I need you. But he knew he was not speaking.

  Her face was magnificently serene and her blue eyes, spellbinding.

  I wish I could have saved you, his voice said.

  Amy’s smile widened, and he heard her voice, but her lips did not move. You did, she said and reached out and took his hand.

  Suddenly Deans was in darkness. They glided silently forward and came to a door, which opened of its own accord before they reached it.

  Let the truth in, Amy’s voice said.

  Deans looked beyond the open door. A vertical shaft of light cut through the centre of the room. He stopped moving and fell completely rigid. He was looking at Ruby Mansell’s bedroom, and lying blooded and motionless on the mattress, he saw Maria.

  Deans opened his eyes with a jolt, his chest heaved and he struggled for breath. He was staring at the familiar Artex ceiling of the treatment room. An intense pain scorched his temples and pulsed down the side of his face. He swung his legs from the couch and slumped forwards, cradling his head in his hands. He did not feel any different, just more exhausted. Denise was no longer in the room and a tall glass of water was waiting for him on the side. He grabbed the drink and downed it in one.

  He caught his breath, pulled on his shoe, shuffled out to the shop front and saw Denise sitting at her desk reading a thick book.

  ‘Okay?’ she smiled. ‘I thought I’d leave you to rest. Your body needed that.’

  Deans rubbed his eyes. He had a dull drum banging inside his head.

  ‘Any chance of a coffee?’

  ‘Ah! No coffee,’ Denise said, closing the covers of her novel. ‘Only water for you.’

  ‘What? You never told me that.’

  ‘Have water first, and then you can have one coffee.’ She grinned. ‘How do you feel?’

  Deans rolled his neck and groaned quietly. ‘Fine,’ he replied. ‘I’m fine.’

  Denise stood up and handed Deans a bottle of spring water. ‘See how you are tomorrow, we could take you the next stage if you are up to it?’ she said.

  Deans gulped from the bottle.

  ‘It’s getting late,’ Denise said.

  Deans looked out of the window. It was dark outside. ‘What time is it?’ he asked rubbing his eyes.

  ‘Coming up to seven. I didn’t want to disturb your rest.’

  Deans looked down at his hands and rotated them back to front. He clenched his fists and released them again as if he was squeezing a stress ball in each hand. He wanted to speak but stopped himself.

  Denise raised a brow as if she was reading his mind and was already answering his question.

  ‘Did I just… I mean. Was that…real?’

  Denise did not answer. She simply smiled.

  ‘What does it mean?’

  Denise looked away for a short moment and then stood up.

  ‘You must work that out for yourself, flower,’ she said.

  Deans rolled his neck and breathed in the dream. He looked around the room as Denise watched him with a sympathetic smile. He moved towards the door and looked out into the black, still air. He stretched his shoulders and brought his hands together above his head before resting them on top of his crown.

  ‘I think,’ he said. ‘I think I need some local constabulary help.’

  Chapter 43

  DC Ranford was at his desk working a fresh overnight case. It was clear from his gob-smacked expression that he was surprised to see Deans hobbling in to the office on his sticks, accompanied by a member of staff from the front of house reception team.

  ‘Andy? You’re back,’ Ranford said and quickly stood to help Deans to a nearby chair. ‘My God! Look at you,’ he said. ‘I was told about…’ his voice tailed away. ‘My God! You were lucky to escape that crash.’

  ‘I need your help, Paul,’ Deans said.

  Ranford shrugged. ‘Of course, anything, but I’m a bit stuffed at the moment with these overnight prisoners. Can Mansfield help? He’s just popped out for something.’

  ‘No,’ Deans replied blankly. ‘It has to be you.’

  Ranford dropped his pen onto the desk and dragged his chair closer to Deans. ‘Okay,’ he said, ‘I’m listening.’

  ‘Maria’s dead,’ Deans said bluntly.

  At first Ranford did not react. He simply looked at Deans and blinked. Then his face creased in the middle and a look of dismay replaced his professional exterior cladding. ‘Oh my God!’ he said, his eyes wide open. ‘Andy. I am so sorry.’ He leaned in closer towards Deans.

  ‘They are waiting on a formal ID from the DNA,’ Deans said. ‘Should be any time now.’

  ‘Hold on,’ Ranford said. ‘Is this the body pulled from Sandymere Bay?’

  Deans closed his eyes and dropped his head.

  ‘Holy shit! I heard about that. But she was decap—’ Ranford stopped himself from saying the rest.

  ‘I know where she was killed,’ Deans said.

  Ranford’s mouth opened, showing his bottom row of teeth. ‘What?’

  Deans moistened his lips and peered at Ranford. ‘I know where she was killed.’ He held Ranford’s gaze until Ranford glanced away.

  ‘Where?’ Ranford whispered, after Deans made it obvious he was wa
iting for Ranford to respond next.

  Deans looked back toward the door. They were still alone.

  ‘There’s a house,’ he said, ‘overlooking Sandymere Bay.’ He saw that Ranford was completely immersed in his every word. ‘It’s known as the haunted house—’

  ‘Yes, I know it… everyone knows it,’ Ranford said.

  ‘Maria was killed in the haunted house.’

  Ranford sat back in his chair and stared at Deans for a moment.

  ‘Are you sure?’ Ranford asked. ‘That place is derelict, isn’t it?’

  ‘And I need your help to get me inside.’

  Ranford blinked and shook his head. ‘But… uh… are you certain?’

  ‘Deadly.’

  Ranford’s inquisitive eyes were working overtime.

  ‘I’ve already been there once,’ Deans said.

  Ranford’s curious stare turned to shock. ‘What? When?’ he asked.

  ‘A week before my accident.’

  ‘What did you find?’ Ranford breathed.

  Deans pursed his lips, looked over at the Post-It notes stuck around the edge of DC Mansfield’s computer screen and shook his head. ‘Nothing.’

  ‘So then, why do you want to go back?’

  ‘I have to.’

  ‘Well, who let you in the last time?’

  ‘I found a way inside—’

  ‘Fuck’s sake, Andy,’ Ranford said with muted tones. ‘You can’t do that. It still belongs to somebody.’

  ‘And that’s why I need your help,’ Deans said lifting his leg cast from the floor, as if he really needed to explain.

  Ranford dropped his chin to his chest and chuckled. ‘Yeah… okay. I said I’d do anything, but I have to finish these interviews first.’

  ‘Good,’ Deans said. ‘I’ll see you later. And make sure you bring Mansfield.’

  Ranford allowed Deans to use a job computer for ten minutes. He was searching Google for Ruby Mansell’s house to see if anything showed. He was in luck; there was a report from the local Herald regarding her death. Ruby Mansell had succumbed to a sudden and ultimately unexplained death by asphyxiation in her bedroom. Her long-time friend, and neighbour, Ivan Greene, had found her days later, deceased in her bed. The family bloodline ended with her demise.

  Deans’ thoughts immediately raced to Maria and their attempts to have a family. He clamped his jaw and continued reading. Ruby’s death was eleven years ago. He pictured the house in his mind and tried to imagine how it must have looked in its heyday. The news article displayed a grainy picture of the house from the outside. Deans leaned in closer. The porch, roof and walls were still perfectly intact. As he scanned the image, his eyes diverted to a piece of text and to a name that shot out of the page at him:

  Police Constable Stephen Jackson said, “Any loss of life is tragic, but especially when someone so influential within our community is taken from us in such devastating circumstances.”

  Deans scrolled down the report and found another image, this time of PC Jackson. He was skeletal even as a younger man, in fact he looked unchanged from today. He was in full dress uniform. The image appeared to have been taken during an award ceremony.

  Deans jotted the date of the article in the back of his day-book, circled it and read on. Ruby Mansell was the heir to a small fortune. She lived alone in the grand old property for many years after her husband was killed fighting in the Second World War. Her wealth after death was distributed between charitable organisations she supported, but not her home. Deans checked his watch; he needed to press-on. He checked Ranford was not paying attention to him and took a photo of the screen on his phone.

  Chapter 44

  Deans left the station and scrolled through his phone until he found DC Sarah Gold’s number. Ranford said she was in town, paying Babbage a home visit. Deans arranged to meet her at a coffee house in Torworthy.

  Sarah came through the door and picked him out straight away, which was not difficult; he was one of only three people in the café and the only person battered and bruised, and on crutches. She waved and bounced over to him. Sarah was wearing a chocolate brown knee-length trench coat, tailored to the waist. Her blonde hair was caught at the collar and bunched up like ear muffs. Deans grabbed a stick and heaved himself up from his chair.

  ‘Sit down, silly,’ Sarah said helping Deans back into his seat. ‘Have you ordered anything?’

  ‘I’ve already had a coffee, but if you’re offering, I’d love another?’

  Sarah walked to the counter and spoke to the waiter who seemed to know her. Deans heard him call her by her name. Their interaction seemed more than simple acquaintances.

  ‘It’s fantastic to see you,’ she said coming back to the table. ‘When did the hospital release you?’

  ‘They didn’t,’ Deans said.

  Sarah’s face dropped. ‘What do you mean? You self-discharged?’

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Things I need to do,’ Deans said casually.

  ‘But… you should still be looked after.’

  ‘I am,’ Deans said. ‘Denise Moon is taking care of me for a few days.’ He noticed a flicker in Sarah’s eyes.

  ‘Is that wise?’

  ‘It’s the wisest thing I’ve done in my entire life.’

  The waiter came over to the table. ‘One Grande latte for Madame and a large Americano for sir.’

  Deans nodded. Sarah looked back over her shoulder as the waiter returned to the counter. ‘Thanks, Dan,’ she said.

  Deans watched her closely and sipped from his mug. ‘So what are you doing back here?’ he asked. ‘You are still based in Exeter, aren’t you?’

  ‘Yeah, yeah,’ she sighed. ‘They haven’t sacked me yet.’

  Deans looked around the room at the two other occupied tables and shrugged, ‘So?’

  ‘Oh, Sergeant Jackson asked me to do a welfare check on Babbage. He’s on electronic curfew, but the sarge seems to think we also need doorstep presentation.’

  ‘Why would he want that?’ Deans asked.

  Sarah shrugged. ‘I don’t know.’

  ‘So,’ Deans said after a couple of sips of his coffee. ‘How was his… welfare?’

  Sarah scratched the side of her neck and instead of answering the question, removed her coat and placed it on the chair next to her. She was wearing an undersized suit jacket that was straining at the button beneath her chest. Deans looked over to Dan, who was staring back at him.

  ‘Does Babbage still bother you?’ Deans asked.

  She fiddled with the spoon on her saucer but did not answer.

  ‘Were you alone?’

  She lifted her cup with both hands, taking a frothy slurp from the latte and nodded.

  ‘Jackson didn’t suggest you should go with someone else?’

  ‘He did,’ Sarah said quickly. ‘I did ask in Torworthy CID, but no one could help me, so I went alone.’ Sarah made it obvious what she thought of that with a raise of her eyebrow and a momentary glance up to the ceiling.

  Deans took a long drawn out sip from his mug and waited a few moments.

  ‘I was meaning to ask before,’ he said. ‘How is it that you live so near, yet work all the way over in Exeter – why not work in Torworthy?’

  ‘I’d love to, it would be so convenient. But I had to go where the detective post was offered.’

  ‘Jackson… did he have anything to do with that?’ Deans asked.

  Sarah’s eyes wavered slightly. ‘Yes,’ she said.

  ‘Did you know him before you joined the job?’ Deans asked.

  She looked down and away.

  Deans cocked his head. ‘It’s okay,’ he said. ‘You don’t need to answer. I’m sorry if I’m prying.’

  Still looking down towards her lap, Sarah began to speak, ‘My mother was beaten by my father. One day she was so badly hurt that I called the police.’ She looked up and stared Deans in the eye. ‘But Mum didn’t want me to.’ Sarah blinked slowly. ‘Sergeant Jackson wa
s one of the officers to attend. He was kind to Mum… and caring towards me.’

  Deans did not interrupt and allowed Sarah free recall.

  ‘I was fifteen,’ she smiled sadly. ‘Eleven years ago. I’ve grown up a lot since then.’

  As she took another drink, Deans asked her, ‘That was here?’

  Sarah placed her cup gently back down onto the saucer. ‘Yeah, my mum still lives in Torworthy…’ She hesitated and shifted in her seat. ‘Dad upped and left once the investigation was over.’

  ‘What happened to him?’ Deans asked.

  Sarah frowned and pouted her rounded lips. ‘Nothing. Mum retracted any complaint. Those were the days before victimless prosecutions.’ She scratched the side of her nose and hid her face behind her cup once again.

  Deans could tell she was embarrassed to be talking about it. ‘Has Mum found anyone else?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Sarah replied without taking breath. ‘She still blames me for wrecking their marriage by calling the police that night.’

  Deans scowled. ‘What does she think about you being an officer now… a detective?’

  ‘She is fine – talks about me when it suits her.’ Sarah looked away again.

  ‘And Dad?’

  Sarah shook her head.

  ‘So how did you find Jackson, or was it the other way around?’ Deans asked.

  Sarah scratched at her ear. ‘I saw him at my initial interview. He was one of the assessors. He just always seemed to be wherever I ended up, like it was fate or something.’

  Deans smiled and created a minute of silence to consider his thoughts as he took another drink.

  ‘How was Babbage?’ he asked eventually.

  ‘Eww,’ Sarah responded, screwing up her face. ‘Still gives me the willies.’ She quickly checked left, then right and leaned in towards Deans.

  He reciprocated.

  ‘Did you know that Babbage is female?’ Sarah said.

  Deans gave a half shake of his head but did not reply.

  ‘Turns out her brother died in a boat accident when he was only seven and her parents both died together in a car accident a few years later.’