The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  ‘Yes,’ Billy Palmer said timidly.

  ‘Good. Now piss off.’

  Deans thrust his hand away, turned, and hobbled back towards the car.

  Sarah was still talking to Billy Palmer by the time Deans was back inside their vehicle.

  ‘Who was that?’ Denise asked.

  ‘No one.’

  ‘You looked annoyed. Are you okay?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘I’m fine.’

  Sarah rejoined them and looked with ferocity at Deans.

  ‘What was that?’ she asked sharply.

  ‘Some nut-job.’

  ‘I’ve probably just sweet-talked that gentleman from placing a complaint of assault against you. What the hell is wrong with you?’

  ‘I thought he was tabloid scum. I got it wrong, but he shouldn’t have been filming me.’

  ‘That still doesn’t make it right to go around whacking people.’

  ‘I didn’t whack him. I gave him a little tap and told him to piss off. He got away lightly, if you ask me.’

  ‘Jesus!’ Sarah said slapping the steering wheel. ‘You are becoming so angry and unpredictable.’

  Unpredictable, Deans thought. Maybe that’s not such a bad thing.

  Chapter 16

  The traffic jams in Barnstaple were almost as epic as the ones Deans endured in Bath. True to his word, the proprietor was waiting for them behind an ostentatious locked wooden door. Sarah showed him her warrant badge and he welcomed them inside with willing enthusiasm.

  ‘This is something of a treat,’ the proprietor said. ‘Someone else with an interest in Viking heritage. We have an extensive display of artefacts, if you’d care to see them?’

  ‘Yes, please,’ Deans said catching Denise’s eye. ‘So they were here?’

  ‘Yes, indeed, and what a fascinating people they were.’

  The proprietor took them through to an echo-chamber of a room with glass display cabinets against the walls and a large glass coffin in the middle of the floor containing various decayed items. Deans walked to one of the wall units and studied a misshapen and heavily tarnished battle helmet.

  ‘That was actually one of the Saxon remnants we found on the bloody battle grounds of Hemingsford,’ the proprietor said standing alongside Deans.

  ‘You have artefacts from Hemingsford battle ground?’ Deans asked.

  The man laughed pompously. ‘Pretty much everything you see in this room is excavated from those green, undulating pastures. Hard to imagine the horror of that time,’ he said looking off distantly.

  ‘Maybe not quite as hard as you’d think,’ Deans commented beneath his breath.

  ‘I beg your pardon?’

  ‘How much do you know about the invasion and battles?’ Deans said diverting his previous remark.

  The proprietor rubbed his hands together and emitted a high-pitched self-satisfied whine. ‘I know a fair amount, it must be accepted.’

  Sarah had joined Deans. ‘Good,’ she said. ‘We need to understand as much as possible and we don’t have long.’

  ‘Oh, well, that’s a different story,’ the proprietor said pulling himself away from the cabinet and looking to see what Denise was interested in.

  ‘Meaning?’ Deans said.

  ‘This is my life’s work. You must dedicate yourself to truly understand the intricacies of that extraordinary people and era.’

  ‘We don’t have time,’ Deans said facing the proprietor. ‘What are you doing for the next few days?’

  ‘Working here, of course.’

  ‘Not any more,’ Deans said. ‘You are now working for the police on a very need-to-know basis.’

  ‘What? I just can’t—’

  ‘You can, and you are.’

  ‘Just hold on, young man. Do not assume to know one’s business and start throwing your weight around here. I’ll have to ask you to leave.’

  ‘I’m really sorry,’ Sarah said. ‘My friend doesn’t mean to be so direct.’ She looked daggers at Deans. ‘But we really do need someone with extensive local knowledge and advice in your specialist field to help us with a serious and ongoing investigation.’

  Deans shook his head and walked over to Denise on the other side of the room. Sarah was proving to be quite the diplomat.

  ‘A serious and ongoing investigation?’ the proprietor repeated. ‘Related in some way to our Viking heritage – I don’t understand?’

  ‘You don’t need to,’ Deans said from across the room. ‘What do you know about the cult following of Hubba The Dane?’

  The man chuckled, dipped his head and centred the spectacles on the tip of his nose. ‘What do you mean?’ he said, looking over the top of his glasses at Deans.

  ‘The modern-day following of Pagan beliefs,’ Denise said.

  ‘And their practices,’ Deans continued.

  Sarah looked confused, but the proprietor moved towards another glass-walled cabinet. He stood silently in front of the display and stared inside.

  Deans, Denise and Sarah joined him and all four of them looked inside the spotlessly clear box.

  ‘It is true; there are those who believed the bloodline continued.’

  Deans slid his eyes towards Denise.

  ‘But I have never seen evidence of it.’

  The proprietor was looking at a metal pendant with three interlinking triangles and leather bound necklace, taking centre stage of the cabinet.

  ‘And what do you believe,’ Deans asked, ‘being the font of all knowledge on this particular topic?’

  Sarah kicked the side of his ankle.

  Deans watched the man’s reflection in the glass. His focus had shifted from the pendant and he was looking at himself. He noticed Deans staring back at him. ‘Oh, I don’t think there’s anything in it,’ he said.

  ‘Really?’ Deans asked.

  The proprietor turned with a flat smile. ‘Really.’

  ‘Okay, thanks for your time,’ Deans said. ‘We’ll be in touch if we have any more questions.’

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course.’

  ‘Oh,’ Deans said slapping his forehead. ‘Do you have contact details?’

  ‘Yes, hold on.’ The proprietor left them in the gallery and walked back towards the museum entrance.

  ‘He knows something,’ Deans whispered to Sarah. ‘He doesn’t believe his own words.’

  The proprietor returned and handed Deans a yellow compliment slip. ‘Here you are. I’m available most of the time, either here, or on my private number, which I have added at the top of the page.’

  ‘Thanks,’ Deans said grasping the small slip of paper.

  ‘I hope you catch them,’ the proprietor said.

  Deans paused before taking his hand back. ‘Most enlightening,’ he said. He flapped the paper. ‘I’m sure we’ll need to talk again.’

  Chapter 17

  The DI was with Jackson. He was talking on the phone. It sounded like there were issues with a prisoner at another station, from what Deans could make out. The DI was young. If ever there was an example of the new fast-track promotion system, this was it. He probably had a good brain on his shoulders and a degree – it seemed any would do to satisfy the human resources recruitment requirements, but he still looked like he needed his mum to get him dressed in the mornings.

  The DI ended the call with a slam of the receiver. He noticed DC Gold and a cheesy smile instantly replaced his exasperated expression.

  ‘Okay,’ Jackson said. ‘Now the others are here we can begin.’

  ‘I’m very busy,’ the DI said to Jackson. ‘This had better be good.’

  The look Jackson gave the DI didn’t attempt to hide the disdain he clearly held for the younger man.

  ‘We are dealing with several murders, sir. Have you heard about them in the boardroom?’

  The DI scoffed and cleared his throat behind his hand. He glanced over his shoulder to see if DC Gold was looking his way. She was… and so was Deans.

&nbs
p; The DI looked at his watch.

  ‘Got something more important than a murder, sir?’ Jackson remarked.

  The DI half-turned, stopping just short of looking at DC Gold again. The silence in the room must have told him that everybody was watching, and listening.

  ‘You know the plight of Detective Ranford, I presume?’ Jackson continued.

  ‘Yes. Yes, of course,’ the DI replied impatiently. ‘Well, he was one of yours wasn’t he?’

  Jackson smiled. ‘Not exactly mine, but I see where are you coming from. Anyway, we have to be mindful of who has access to the information we are collating, because we simply don’t know if he acted alone or with others.’

  The DI appeared confused, the tight youthful skin of his forehead, forming hairline cracks. He had a lot of stress to come his way if he was going to match Jackson’s corrugation. His eyes blinked their way to Denise who was standing nearest to the door.

  ‘I need assurances that we have the backing of the bosses, if, and when things get spicy,’ Jackson said.

  ‘I can’t offer anything of the sort. You will have to follow the legal procedures and protocols like everybody else. You can be rest assured that any material gathered in the course of the investigation will be handled with the utmost confidentiality and respect.’

  Deans stood forward. ‘People are dying, sir. We know Ranford worked with Ash Babbage, but there’s no way either of them murdered Archie Rowland. Another killer is still at large.’

  The DI tossed a glance at Jackson who nodded.

  ‘What do we know so far?’ the DI asked.

  Jackson turned to the board, but before he could speak, Deans cut in. ‘It’s early days, sir. We just need to know that we can progress this in the most appropriate manner to gain the maximum result.’

  The DI smiled a politician’s smile. ‘I understand that you, more than anyone, have a vested interest in this investigation, Detective Deans.’ He looked at each of them in turn. ‘But you must realise that none of you are above the law. Forensic Pathologist Rowland’s death, tragic as it was, will be investigated in the same manner as every other death in these circumstances. You will not deviate from that. Do you understand?’

  Deans stared at the DI.

  ‘I’m sorry, officer. I didn’t hear your answer. I said do you understand?’

  Deans returned the fake smile and ceremonially bowed his head.

  ‘I don’t agree,’ Jackson said bluntly.

  The DI shot him a look of fury.

  ‘You know what, as detectives we sometimes have to think outside of the box. Those are the skills that got us here in the first place.’ Jackson walked an arc in front of the DI as if baiting him. ‘I don’t know where you worked before becoming the latest DI… the local supermarket for all I care, but this is how real detectives work. This is how we get results, and this is how we prevent more deaths. Don’t talk to me about procedures and policy. I normally work in Professional Standards. If I can’t keep this investigation above board, then nobody can. All we are asking for is anonymity and the authority from you to progress this investigation prudently and expeditiously. I will feed you all the details you need. We will abide by the laws of PACE (Police and Criminal Evidence Act), but if information seeps, you will be the first to know about it.’

  The DI stood planted to the spot.

  Deans applauded Jackson in his head. He never thought he would hear himself saying it, but Jackson was starting to grow on him.

  The DI turned his back and faced the white board for a moment.

  Deans could see his shoulders lift and drop with each deep breath. He waited for the reaction.

  The DI began to raise his wristwatch to his face and stopped himself short. ‘Right,’ he said still looking at the board. ‘Right.’

  ‘I want Magistrate’s authorisation for a Section Eight PACE search of Annie Rowland’s flat and any other buildings she has control of,’ Jackson said.

  Deans stumbled backwards with surprise.

  The DI looked Deans up and down in silence.

  ‘And I want a team of six uniformed officers on standby,’ Jackson continued.

  ‘We don’t have six PCs to put on standby.’

  ‘Then you’d better find some. People are dying out there and I don’t want any of my team to be next.’

  The DI looked warily at DC Gold who broke eye contact and her cheeks flushed rouge.

  ‘Can we go somewhere more… private,’ the DI asked Jackson.

  ‘I know just the room.’ Jackson caught Deans’ eye with a wry twinkle.

  ‘Bring all of your supporting material. I’m not authorising anything unless I believe there are solid grounds to suspect involvement with these deaths.’

  ‘Understood entirely,’ Jackson said. ‘Detective Gold and Deans have been working tirelessly on that throughout the day – along with Miss Moon.’

  The DI cocked his head back towards Denise.

  ‘Good. Good. Good work,’ he said addressing Sarah Gold. ‘Okay, shall we?’

  Jackson looked at Deans and Gold before he left the room. ‘Get yourselves home. We won’t be implementing any warrants tonight – it’ll need thorough planning and risk assessment.’ He winked and led the DI out of the room and left Deans and Sarah motionless for a second.

  ‘Can you believe the way he spoke to DI?’ Sarah whispered.

  ‘I have to admit,’ Deans said. ‘He’s full of surprises.’

  Chapter 18

  Deans remained in the office with Sarah while Denise made her way back home. There was little point in her staying around while they top and tailed the day’s enquiries and prepared themselves for what would no doubt be another onslaught in the morning.

  ‘What are you doing later tonight?’ Sarah asked Deans.

  ‘Nothing. Sleeping.’

  ‘Fancy coming over to mine for some pasta?’ she asked. ‘Nothing fancy, I can knock something up in no time.’

  Deans hesitated. This smacked of déjà vu. He raised his eyebrows.

  ‘I won’t try to seduce you… I promise,’ she said with a mischievous grin.

  ‘Have you got any alcohol?’

  ‘Always.’

  ‘Okay. I’ll come.’

  Deans phoned Denise to say that he’d be back later. She didn’t ask why and he didn’t offer a reason.

  Deans remembered Sarah’s townhouse well, and just as before, he followed her up the steep staircase to the living area.

  ‘Grab a seat,’ Sarah said. ‘Sauvignon Blanc okay for you?’

  ‘Thanks.’

  Deans sat down and was immediately rewarded with a large glass of chilled wine.

  Sarah kicked off her shoes and joined him on the sofa. She tucked her legs beneath her and faced him.

  ‘What did you mean when you said you could trust Denise Moon more than me?’

  ‘Oh, it was just a figure of speech, reinforcing my faith in Denise.’

  Sarah tipped her head and looked at Deans beneath seductive lids. ‘Are you sure?’

  ‘Yes, I’m sure. Jackson needs reining in sometimes, otherwise he gets too excited.’

  Sarah offered her glass towards Deans and he tapped it against his own glass.

  ‘So…’ she said. ‘Here you are again.’

  Deans scratched behind his ear and looked away.

  ‘Anyone would think there’s something in North Devon that keeps you coming back.’

  ‘There is.’

  Sarah smiled.

  ‘My wife’s killer.’

  The gloss smudged from Sarah’s pouting lips and then she said, ‘Can I ask you a question?’ Her keen eyes searched his face. ‘That man, earlier – he said you were, special. What exactly did he mean?’

  Deans shifted in his seat. ‘It doesn’t matter.’

  ‘Yes, it does. You are special, but I want to know what he meant by it?’

  Deans winced and turned the other way.

  ‘Come on, don’t be like that.’

  Deans sipp
ed his drink creating a few seconds of delay to consider whether to tell her, or not.

  He lowered his chin to his chest and bounced his head. ‘I should have died on that train.’ He closed his eyes and sucked despondently through his nose. ‘In some respects, I wish I had.’

  ‘Oh, don’t talk that way.’

  ‘I mean it. I don’t know why, but I was spared from death and plunged into this life.’ He gulped wine from his glass, tilted Sarah a look and drank some more.

  ‘You still have some things to live for,’ Sarah said quietly.

  Deans didn’t answer.

  ‘Being a detective, well, we help so many people. What would they do without you?’ She pulled her knees up onto the sofa and turned towards him. ‘What would I do without you?’

  Deans finished his glass and Sarah duly topped it up again. He took another large mouthful and sat bolt upright, spilling wine onto his hand and lap.

  ‘What is it?’ Sarah asked looking around the room with sudden alarm.

  ‘Jesus!’ Deans cried out launching himself to his feet. ‘How bloody short sighted of me.’

  ‘What, what is it?’

  ‘The man from the Paranormal Guild.’ Deans was energized.

  ‘What about him?’

  ‘He’s been following me. Filming me.’

  Sarah shrugged. ‘Yes.’

  ‘The killers have been one step ahead of me all this time. The only way they could do that is by knowing my movements.’

  Sarah pulled a face.

  ‘His camera,’ Deans beamed. ‘He might have recorded the killers.’

  Their eyes met in wide anticipation.

  ‘Do you still have his card?’ Deans quickly asked.

  Sarah dug into her front trouser pocket. It was there.

  ‘Call him. Call him now. Let’s get him over,’ she said.

  ‘You’re happy for him to come here?’

  ‘Yes, if it means we are getting closer to the answers.’

  ‘What if he turns out to be a complete loon? He’d have your address.’

  ‘I’m safe, you are with me. He’s already petrified of you.’

  ‘Alright, don’t make me feel worse than I already am.’