The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  ‘Because Ash Babbage, Paul Ranford and Annie Rowland had an interest in the Vikings, or their Pagan beliefs.’

  The DCI and Jackson exchanged a look and Jackson conceded with a waft of his hand and a dip of his head.

  ‘Tell me about this burial ground,’ the DCI said. ‘Where exactly is it?’

  ‘A couple of hundred metres back from the haunted house.’

  ‘Okay,’ she said holding out her hand. ‘Let’s just drop this haunted house stuff shall we.’

  ‘Sorry, Ma’am,’ Deans replied.

  ‘What evidence do you have that this location is linked to the investigation?’

  Deans saw Jackson smirk behind his hand.

  ‘Give me a shovel and the authority to dig it up and I’ll prove it.’

  ‘We’ve been through this, Deans,’ Jackson said slapping his hands loudly on his legs.

  ‘I’ve already made a decision on this,’ the DI’s voice came from the back row. ‘And it was refused.’

  ‘Thank you,’ the DCI said. ‘Well, I haven’t heard any of this, so please continue, Detective.’

  Deans leaned forwards to get a better view of Jackson. ‘Who took the statement from Scotty Parsons when Amy Poole’s body was discovered on the beach?’ Deans asked Jackson directly.

  Jackson returned the question with the back of his hand.

  ‘Who took the statement?’ Deans repeated.

  ‘I don’t believe we ever got one,’ Jacksons said.

  ‘Okay,’ Deans said. ‘Who was tasked to take the statement?’

  Jackson rolled his eyes again and was about to speak when the DCI spoke over him.

  ‘Stephen?’ she said. ‘Who was tasked with the statement?’

  Jackson rolled his head and gave Deans a sly smile. ‘It was Detective Ranford, Ma’am. Detective Ranford was tasked to take that statement.’

  ‘And did he complete that task?’

  ‘I don’t believe so, Ma’am,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Why wasn’t it chased up?’ the DCI asked.

  ‘Subsequent events somewhat overshadowed the enquiry, Ma’am.’

  ‘Why bring this up, Andrew?’ the DCI enquired.

  ‘Because at Bone Hill I found a deliberately concealed area of soil that I believe could be a shallow grave.’

  ‘It’s probably the local poachers,’ the DI called out from the back of the room. ‘Just ignore this nonsense.’

  The DCI fixed her stare on Deans.

  ‘No, Ma’am, he’s wrong,’ Deans said.

  ‘And why do you believe that?’

  ‘Because I also found something else.’

  The room fell completely silent.

  ‘Close to the disturbed soil, I found a tree carving with a date and two names.’

  Deans stood up and walked over to the DCI. Everyone, apart from Jackson, who was now leaning back in his chair with folded arms, were hanging on his next words.

  Deans took a pen for the board and leaned towards Jackson.

  ‘Aren’t you going to ask me what I found?’

  ‘What did you find?’ the DCI asked.

  Deans turned his back to the room and drew a large heart shape on the board. Inside, he wrote the exact same words as were seen on the tree. He faced the seated officers and stepped to the side so that all in the room could see it clearly.

  Everyone apart from Jackson leaned forwards to read the words: Scotty loves Amy. 26.10.2008.

  Chapter 31

  The DCI paced the room. ‘So, let me get this straight – Scotty Parsons was meant to provide a statement to Detective Deans relating to the last time Amy Poole was last seen alive, but didn’t turn up at the stated time. The task was then left for Detective Ranford to undertake when Deans returned to Bath, but this never happened.’ She glared at Jackson. ‘Why was this?’

  Jackson scratched the crown of his bald pate. ‘I don’t know, Ma’am. An oversight?’

  ‘We don’t have oversights with murder enquiries, Stephen.’

  ‘No, Ma’am.’

  ‘We then discover that Detective Paul Ranford is sickeningly involved, when he kills Ash Babbage and attempts to frame Detective Deans for the death.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Jackson agreed.

  ‘Detective Ranford is then remanded into custody as our enquiries continue and Forensic Pathologist Archie Rowland is subsequently murdered in a similar way to poor Maria Deans, whose body he autopsied just a couple of weeks before.’

  Deans looked down at his feet. Jackson grunted a noise in accordance.

  ‘On making further enquiries, Detective Deans identifies an obscure object that potentially links Babbage to Ranford and both of them to Annie Rowland, who at this time has not provided an account of any kind.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Jackson replied.

  ‘Detective Deans then discovers this obscure object has potential links to an ancient Pagan religion and associated sacrificial practices that may or may not influence the reason for the latest string of murders.’

  Jackson didn’t answer. Deans nodded.

  ‘And now you’ve been to some burial site, where you suspect recent activity through cultivation or a disturbance of the soil, and, you have found a tree carving linking somebody called “Amy” with somebody called “Scotty” to that exact same location on a specific date in two thousand and eight.’

  ‘Yes, Ma’am,’ Deans replied.

  The DCI glazed over on a spot near the middle of the room. Her eyes flickered and blinked. ‘Well then, I suggest we establish if there is any significance with that date and I’d like to know if Amy Poole was aware of the significance of Bone Hill.’

  ‘She was, Ma’am,’ Deans said and produced Amy’s pendant from his go-bag.’

  ‘What’s that?’ the DCI asked.

  ‘It’s called a Valknut. I found this in Amy’s bedside drawer. Scotty Parsons gave it to her.’

  ‘May I?’ the DCI asked and took the pendant exhibit from Deans’ hand.

  Deans looked at Jackson whose cold grey eyes fixed upon his.

  ‘Very well,’ the DCI said, handing Deans the exhibit bag. ‘I want Annie Rowland and Scotty Parsons located and brought in for questioning.’

  ‘Ma’am?’ Jackson queried.

  ‘Trace and interview them, Stephen. It’s not rocket science.’

  ‘Are we arresting them based on the evidence of a fantasist?’ Jackson said, now out of his chair.

  The DCI caught Deans looking at her. She lingered on his face.

  ‘Yes. Let’s see what they have to say. Organise a Magistrate’s warrant of entry and I think we’d better bring some extra bodies in to help us.’

  Deans was studying the white board. He noticed that none of the names had the dates of death alongside them. ‘How many unsolved MISPERS do you have?’ he asked.

  ‘Missing Persons?’ the DCI replied. ‘I don’t know. Stephen, do you know the answer to that?’

  Jackson pinched his top lip between his fingertips and stared at Deans. ‘Here specifically, or the district in general?’ he asked.

  Deans waved a hand. ‘Let’s start here.’

  Jackson looked through a thick wad of intelligence reports on his lap and pulled out a sheet.

  ‘Last count, we had… five.’

  ‘Only five live and ongoing investigations?’ the DCI asked. ‘Surely we have more than that?’

  ‘Five unsolved.’

  ‘Never found?’ Deans asked.

  Jackson cocked his head.

  ‘Over what period of time?’ the DCI asked Jackson firmly.

  Jackson sniffed and looked back down at the report. ‘Since Nineteen Eighty-Four.’

  ‘There are five unsolved MISPERS since eighty-four?’ the DCI said.

  ‘More than one a decade.’ Deans said.

  ‘Haven’t they been escalated – reviewed by the Major Crime Team?’ the DCI pressed.

  Jackson shrugged. ‘You’d have to ask them.’

  The DCI tutted and snatched the report
from Jackson’s hand. She read through the document shaking her head. ‘How was this never flagged?’

  Jackson pouted dispassionately. ‘This isn’t my district, Ma’am. You’re asking the wrong person.’

  ‘I’m asking you now. Find out why these missing person reports have festered, unsolved at this station.’

  ‘Ma’am.’

  ‘Male or female?’ Deans asked.

  The DCI looked at the report again. ‘Female – all of them.’

  ‘Let me guess?’ Deans said. ‘All went missing in or around October?’

  The DCI looked back down at the paper and then frowned at Deans.

  ‘They all went missing within a four week period of one another in their respective years.’

  ‘And no one has identified that before?’ Jackson barked. ‘What’s going on here?’

  Deans stood up and made his way over to the board.

  ‘Can I see, please, Ma’am?’

  The DCI gave Deans the report and he wrote the names on the board in a column beneath the name of Amy Poole.

  Deborah Clarkson – October 15th 2001

  Mellissa Derry – November 5th 2006

  Sarah Stockdale – October 8th 1992

  Angelique Montgomery – October 24th 1987

  Tammy O’Shea – October 30th 1985

  Deans took the pen and wrote October 4th beside Amy’s name, and jabbed the board with the butt of the marker pen. ‘All of these girls are connected. They have to be.’

  ‘There must be others,’ the DCI said coming alongside Deans. ‘These are only the ones recorded since PACE (Police and Criminal Evidence Act) came into force.’ She kept her eyes on the column of names. ‘We haven’t got a problem,’ she mumbled. ‘We have an epidemic.’

  The room went deathly silent.

  ‘Right,’ the DCI said turning to Jackson. ‘Find out who owns that land. We are going to dig up Bone Hill.’

  Chapter 32

  The following morning Torworthy Police Station was crammed with bosses, detectives and additional police officers from out of district. The DCI had organised a briefing for eleven a.m. There were going to be several scenes to manage; the Bone Hill dig, Annie Rowland’s flat and Scotty Parson’s home. The timings would be coordinated and crucial. Deans wanted to manage each of the scenes, but the DCI had already allocated teams and Deans was going to be a ‘floater’ due to the fact he was the only officer that had been to each target location already.

  Deans received a call on his mobile phone. It was Sarah. She was being discharged from the hospital and was looking for a lift home.

  ‘I’ll go with you,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Good idea,’ the DCI said. ‘You can debrief Detective Gold on your way back.’

  They met Sarah inside the foyer to the hospital. She said she was fine and wanted to return to the office. They were about to drive off when Sarah’s mobile phone went off. It was the ward; she had left a bag of property behind.

  ‘I’ll go,’ Deans said. ‘You stay here and debrief.’

  Neither Sarah nor Jackson argued and Deans stepped back out into the cold air.

  He was greeted at the nursing desk by the same ward sister who had been in charge of his care.

  ‘I’ve come to collect my colleague’s belongings. She just received a call.’

  The ward sister smiled.

  ‘She probably left them behind in her hurry to escape,’ Deans laughed.

  ‘I have to be honest; she did seem in quite a rush to leave.’

  ‘I’m sure it’s nothing personal. She’s probably just keen to return to work.’

  They both exchanged the same sarcastic smile.

  ‘Here you go,’ she said handing Deans a clear zip lock plastic bag. ‘I trust you will return this straight to your colleague.’

  Deans placed a hand over his heart. ‘Absolutely. She is just in the car outside. I was doing her a little favour.’

  ‘You take care and send our best wishes to Miss Gold.’

  ‘I will, and thank you for everything you’ve done for us both.’

  As Deans left the ward, he lifted the bag and looked inside. She had left a watch, necklace, thin silver ring, and a smaller object stuck in the corner of the plastic bag. He looked closer. It was a small brass key. The scent of perfume he knew so well forced him to a halt. He stared into the bag and leaned against the wall of the corridor. He felt the key through the thin clear plastic.

  Maria?

  He let go and looked around. The smell of perfume vanished just as quickly as it had come. Eyes wide, his fingers reached out and he touched the key again.

  ‘Maria?’ he called out.

  Take it, his inner voice told him. Take the key. He looked around – there were a few others in the corridor; the walking wounded, the elderly, but none of them paying him any attention.

  He bit a small hole in the corner of the bag just big enough to slide the key out, and dropped it into his trouser pocket. He checked around him again before making his way out to meet Jackson and Gold in the car park.

  Sarah was in the front seat and both of them were smiling.

  ‘Everything okay?’ Jackson asked, as Deans sat down in the rear.

  ‘Perfect.’

  ‘Any problems?’

  ‘Like what?’

  ‘I don’t know, maybe they wouldn’t give you Sarah’s property.’

  Deans lifted the bag and shook it in the seat space between them.

  ‘Oh, thanks, Andy. You’re a star.’

  Deans leaned between the gap in the seat and handed Sarah the bag. He watched her face as she looked inside. He saw a twitch of her brow and a narrowing of her eyes.

  ‘Did I have—’

  ‘Come on, let’s get going,’ Jackson cut in.

  Deans slowly sank back into his seat, his eyes trained on the back of Sarah’s head.

  ‘Can you drop me home, please?’ she asked Jackson. ‘I’m going to have a shower, quick change and I’ll be back at the station in time for the briefing.’

  ‘You’re not coming back today,’ Jackson said.

  ‘I’m fine. They only kept me in for observations.’

  ‘Are you sure?’ Deans asked. ‘It must have dented your confidence being in that fire.’

  ‘Honestly, I’m okay to come back. I want to come back, especially after what happened to me.’

  ‘Okay,’ Jackson said. ‘Come back, but make sure you’re always around someone in case you take a turn.’ He looked back at Deans. ‘How about your Guardian Angel here – he always seems to be in the right place at the right time.’

  Sarah turned around and smiled at Deans, who looked back with a blank expression.

  Chapter 33

  Deans was inside one of the unused offices facing out into the car park. He had been there alone for the last ten minutes. He was looking out of the window and finally saw Sarah drive in and take one of the last remaining parking spaces. The yard was crammed with Support Group vehicles, CSI vans and unmarked police cars from the extra staff required to handle an operation of this size. Sarah stepped out of the car and played with her hair. Her long black raincoat was pulled in tight around her waist. Deans dug a hand into his trouser pocket and clutched the tiny key between his fingers. ‘Speak to me, Maria,’ he uttered. ‘Please tell me I’m wrong.’

  Deans exited the room and met Sarah in the hallway before she reached the office. ‘Hey Sarah,’ he said giving her a long firm hug. ‘Good to see you back in the fold.’

  ‘Aww,’ Sarah answered, squeezing him firmly. ‘That feels good. Thank you. And thank you for saving me. I could never pay you back.’

  Deans flashed a smile. ‘Come on. We’d better join this party.’

  Deans had been involved with murder enquiries in the past but this was on a different scale. It felt almost as if the station was not big enough for the job. The extended team now occupied two floors of the building; the local uniformed cops were ousted and told to parade from the nearest station. Jackso
n must have hated it – after all, he wanted to keep the operation tight and covert, but the DCI was right to call in assistance from outer districts.

  Everyone had moved to the ground floor briefing room, usually occupied by the uniformed teams. It was a bigger room, the biggest in the station.

  ‘I have obtained a Magistrate’s warrant for the arrest of Annie Rowland,’ the DCI said to the packed and riveted audience. ‘You will force entry to the premises if required, and you will arrest Annie Rowland on suspicion of the murder of her father, Archie Rowland, and also with conspiracy to commit murder on Amy Poole and Maria Deans. Seize all electronic recordable devices, mobile phones, cameras – you know the routine. Let’s have address books, diaries, calendars, anything and everything that may provide links to these murders.’ The DCI paused, cleared her throat and found Deans in the audience. ‘I also want anything seized that is suspected to be of Pagan, Heathen, or cult origin.’

  ‘Like what, Ma’am,’ the support group skipper asked. ‘I don’t think I’d know it if I saw it?’

  ‘Then I suggest you and your team familiarise yourselves with Google. That goes for all of you. If anything is there, I am sure it will stand out.’

  Sergeant Li, the support group skipper, was a tall and handsome Asian man with muscles on top of his muscles. He looked like he had just come off the set of a James Bond movie with his perfectly swept hair and chiselled jaw line. Deans had not seen much in the way of diversity amongst the local officers, but that was not discrimination, as some would like to call it, that was down to the local demographic.

  ‘Sergeant Henshaw,’ the DCI said, ‘I want your team to tie up with Detective Deans at Bone Hill, where Crime Scene Manager, Mike Riley, and his team will set up station in a mobile control unit. We have another two CSI units coming shortly, one of which will deploy to Annie Rowland’s property and the other will remain on standby should this operation get larger than we currently anticipate.’ The DCI looked around the room. ‘Any questions?’

  ‘What happens if she’s not at home?’ a voice came from the back of the room.