STORM LOG-0505: A Gripping, Supernatural Crime Thriller (The First Detective Deans Novel)

by James D Mortain

  Deans noted a change in Groves’ expression; his eyes were intense and he was rocking his head, just enough for Deans to notice. Deans was getting close to the truth but something was wrong.

  He dipped Groves a single slow nod. It was a silent acknowledgement – a moment of understanding between suspect and interviewer.

  ‘Did you have some kind of argument with Amy before she went into town?’

  Groves was now fixated on Deans, but did not respond.

  Johnson was writing down Deans’ questions verbatim and so his attention was on his scratch pad rather than on Groves and Deans.

  ‘Describe your feelings towards Scott,’ Deans continued.

  Groves glared and Deans noticed a flicker of his eyelids.

  Deans made a note in his book. Time for another reaction.

  ‘Amy was your girlfriend of… what? About a year? How did it make you feel to know she was seeing her ex-boyfriend in Devon?’

  Johnson leant forwards and glanced at his client. Deans knew he was getting somewhere. Johnson looked confused. This was obviously news to him.

  Deans continued. ‘Did you know Amy was seeing Scott that Saturday night?’

  Groves’ cheeks reddened, his jaw muscles rippled and his hands interlocked so tightly that Deans could see the crimson red and blood-drained white of each finger.

  It’s time, Deans thought.

  ‘Carl, I believe Amy is dead.’

  The eyes of his interviewee flickered and faltered, but Deans did not soften.

  ‘A woman’s body was found this morning buried beneath a pile of rock on a beach not far from Amy’s home. She was brutally murdered. I saw the remains with my own eyes.’ Deans sat back and watched Groves squirm and redden as the young man struggled to process the news.

  Johnson for once did not try to intervene. He could also see the impact of the last thirty seconds.

  It was time for Deans to follow his instinct.

  ‘Carl, if you want to tell me something about last Saturday night, this would be a good time, buddy.’

  Groves was quaking as he fought back tears and rage and possibly guilt.

  ‘Go on, Carl. Help me find Amy’s killer.’

  There it was, on the table. Deans was making it official. He no longer viewed Carl as the killer.

  Johnson looked over at Deans quizzically, but before he could say anything Carl spoke as tears streamed down his cheeks.

  ‘She got a lift from the bus stop.’

  ‘Go on.’

  ‘Scotty pulled up in a car. Amy got in. I didn’t speak to her. I didn’t even get near her.’ Groves threw his head into his hands.

  Scotty? Deans thought. Why would he lie about picking her up from the bus stop if he was happy to describe being with her later on that night? It did not make sense.

  ‘Are you sure it was Scotty?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Groves said, wiping his face. ‘Almost a hundred percent.’

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘They hugged and kissed. It could only be Scotty.’

  This time it was Johnson and Groves waiting for Deans to speak. He gently nodded. Needed a change of direction.

  ‘Carl, thank you for talking to me. It’s the right thing to do, I assure you.’

  Deans checked out the now-redundant Johnson, who had just slapped his pen loudly onto his pad.

  ‘Carl, I want you to know that I believe you.’

  Groves collapsed into his arms, and flopped in a heap on the table.

  ‘I really need to know about the man with the car,’ Deans said. He stopped talking and waited for Groves to engage.

  ‘This is real, isn’t it?’ Groves spluttered, lifting his head. ‘Amy is really dead?’

  Deans nodded. ‘You can really help me, son, and you can help yourself and Amy. I need you to relax as much as possible and put yourself back to last Saturday.’ Deans needed him to not only think about the night, but also relive it. That was the only way the fine detail could come out, and that could make all the difference. Under the circumstances Deans was chancing his luck, but he needed Carl now. It was some irony.

  Deans would have much preferred Johnson not to be in the room with them. He was more than capable of screwing things up. Deans crossed his fingers beneath the desk and took a deep breath.

  ‘Carl, I need you to clear your mind of everything that has just gone before and I want you to concentrate on my questions and nothing else. I promise this will help you and in turn it might help Amy. Do you agree to try?’

  Groves nodded tentatively. ‘Am I still under arrest?’

  ‘Yes, but what goes on between now and the end of the interview could significantly improve your situation if you cooperate.’

  Deans looked at Johnson, who had now folded his arms and legs in a closed, defensive pose. He just hoped the man could shut up long enough to allow Groves to concentrate.

  Deans began slowly feeding Groves with prompts, kick-starting his recall. His voice was calm, unrushed and reassuring, akin to a hypnotherapist.

  ‘You’re in a perfectly safe environment, Carl. I want you to take yourself back to Saturday night. To the moment, you saw Amy. Close your eyes if it helps. Think about where you are for a moment. Look at what is around you. Listen to the noises and sounds, or tunes playing in the background.’ Music had a strong cognitive quality that could take an individual back to a very specific time in their life. Deans continued. ‘Look at the clothes you’re wearing. In your mind, starting from the top, describe each item in as much detail as you can, as if someone on the end of a phone has to draw each piece of clothing accurately based on your description alone.’ He paused.

  ‘Remember how the material feels against your skin.’

  He waited again.

  ‘Now. You can see Amy at the bus stop. Just concentrate on her and nothing else. Focus on Amy. Take in as much detail as you can, no matter how small.’

  He was asking a lot of Groves and it would be a hard task for a completely willing volunteer, let alone someone who’d been stuffed in a cell for over twenty-four hours.

  ‘Keep concentrating on Amy,’ Deans softly prompted. ‘Don’t miss a single detail.’

  He let a few more soundless seconds calmly slip by.

  ‘Describe what you see, Carl.’

  ‘Amy’s alone,’ Groves replied. ‘She’s looking gorgeous.’ He was answering in the present tense.

  Deans inwardly smiled. ‘Describe what happens next, Carl.’

  ‘The car’s arrived.’

  Deans readied his pen. ‘Look at the car. Take it all in… notice the colour… and see the shape.’ Deans’ pen hung over a fresh page of his daybook.

  ‘It’s seven fifty-two.’

  ‘How do you know that, Carl?’

  ‘The clock on my dash.’

  ‘Very good. Now bring into your sight the moment the car pulls up at just before seven fifty-two. Look at it. Concentrate on the front of the car and when you’re ready, slowly move towards the back, taking in as much detail as you can.’

  Groves’ eyes were closed and his head was bobbing.

  ‘Tell me about the car.’

  Groves cleared his throat. ‘It’s a mark five Golf.’

  ‘A VW Golf,’ Deans said, reinstating the image. ‘Good, Carl, excellent. How certain are you about the make?’

  ‘I’m sure. A mate’s got one back home.’

  ‘Stay with the car, Carl. Look at it in even more detail. Explore the design of the wheels. The windows. The bodywork. And concentrate on the colour.’ Deans paused and watched Groves’ face twitching. ‘Now, if you had to point this particular car out to me in the street from any other mark five VW Golf, how would you do it?’

  Groves frowned and his knee began to bounce once more.

  ‘Take your time,’ Deans reassured him, almost whispering.

  Johnson was saying nothing. He seemed happy that the longer his client was cooperating with Deans, the less time he had to answer about being a potential ki
ller.

  ‘A tow bar,’ Groves announced and stared forcefully at Deans.

  ‘Good, Carl. Is there anything else about the car? Think again about the colour.’

  Groves shook his head. ‘It was dark. Possibly dark blue or black.’ His responses had changed to past tense. He had come out of the cognitive zone.

  ‘Okay, Carl. You have done really well, but there is still a lot of hard work for us to do. I need you to take yourself back again, but now I want you to concentrate on the man. To when he first arrives. Start by looking at the top of his head and slowly take in every detail.’

  Deans slid his book onto his lap and sat back in his chair. ‘Tell me about his head and face.’

  ‘He’s wearing a beanie… but I can’t see his face.’

  ‘Describe the beanie hat, Carl. Close your eyes again if you feel that’ll help.’

  Groves shook his head. ‘It’s quite baggy. Covering his head.’ Groves was now rocking in his chair.

  ‘Go on,’ Deans said softly.

  ‘It’s a kind of purple, with some sort of black pattern.’

  ‘Describe the material.’

  ‘It’s knitted,’ Groves said quickly.

  ‘How do you know?’

  ‘It’s got a bobble on the top.’

  Now that Groves was seeing this so clearly, Deans had a great chance of getting a description of the man.

  ‘Look to where the beanie is pulled over the ears. Now tell me what you can see.’

  Groves was still rocking back and forth, but even more exaggerated than before.

  ‘Carl, look at the bottom of the beanie and describe any hair you can see.’

  ‘I can’t really see.’

  Deans squinted. Groves needed prompting.

  ‘Is the hair tucked under the beanie or is the hair short?’

  Groves shook his head, his face tightening. He was becoming frustrated.

  ‘It’s not tucked under. It’s short. It’s definitely short and light-coloured.’

  Deans jotted the details in his book. He was now looking for a fair-haired man who possessed a knitted purple and black bobbled beanie hat, and who drove a dark-coloured Golf with a tow bar.

  Groves then gawped at Deans, his face pained. ‘It’s not Scotty.’ he said. ‘He’s too old.’

  Chapter 25

  At the end of the interview, Deans left the room, shattered. Cognitive interviewing was mentally draining at the best of times, but this had been something else.

  After Groves had cooperated further, Deans managed to extract from him why he had been in Devon that night. Johnson had tried to interject but it was Groves who ended up telling Johnson to shut up, which brought momentary light relief to an otherwise demanding day.

  Groves went on to describe how he had gone to Devon, not to meet Amy, but to catch her out with Scotty. How he had battled with extreme bouts of jealousy since becoming involved with her, how men took her bubbly personality the wrong way – even when he was with her, and how he no longer trusted the validity of their relationship. Amy had told him about Scotty several months before; said he was an ex, said they were still close friends. From that time on, Scotty had become his adversary. Groves described how he found Amy’s house; sat up watching, did not know if he would see her, but was prepared to wait for as long as was necessary. When he saw her affection towards Scotty at the bus stop, he fell apart. It was the sorry confirmation he had been looking for, but it was also proof that their relationship was terminal. Since that night, he had struggled with insecurity and the mistaken belief, until now, that she was still in Devon with Scotty.

  Deans did not have the heart to tell Groves that Amy did meet up with Scotty after the lift. It would probably tip the young lad over the edge. He was fragile enough as it was, but the biggest puzzle remained; who was the other man?

  Groves had done well and managed to hold it together for the most part. Now it was over, the emotion of the interview and exposing his inner demons had reduced him to a whimpering mess. To make matters worse, he would have to return to the cell until a decision was made regarding his release.

  11:16 p.m.

  Deans leant back against the wall of the custody corridor, his head soothed by the cool paintwork.

  ‘Andrew, can we have a chat please?’

  It was a familiar voice coming from further along the corridor.

  Deans struggled to focus through his bleary eyes and saw Detective Chief Inspector Bellamy dressed in casual clothing, standing with the custody sergeant. Saturday night in the custody suite at just before midnight was not the normal place for the boss to be. Deans stood tall and tucked a flap of shirt back into his trousers.

  ‘Good evening, sir,’ he said, and wondered what event had happened during the time he had been interviewing Groves to prompt this visit.

  Deans felt awful. His eyes were gritty, he was starving hungry having eaten nothing since breakfast, and he had a day’s growth on his chin, not to mention a humour deficiency – not ideal circumstances to be chatting with the boss.

  Deans walked through to a side room that the boss had just entered. He knocked on the door and hesitated, seeing Bellamy facing into the room from the far corner, like a prize-fighter waiting for the opening round.

  ‘Andy, I hear you’ve been doing a fine job on this missing person case.’

  ‘Thank you, sir,’ Deans replied. He knew Bellamy had not bothered to come into work at this time just to tell him that.

  Bellamy pointed to a chair, already positioned to face in his direction.

  Deans cleared his throat, and gently lowered himself down. ‘Thank you,’ he said uneasily.

  ‘Andy,’ the boss said, taking two causal steps forwards, ‘there’s a delicate divide building with this investigation that I realise might now be a Devon murder enquiry.’

  Deans nodded. ‘Sir.’

  ‘I understand you’ve been interviewing the suspect here tonight.’

  ‘That’s right, sir, Carl Groves.’

  ‘Yes.’ The boss walked over to the door and gently closed it. ‘Let’s get the bollocks out of the way first, shall we – Mr Johnson’s put in a complaint against you.’

  ‘You’re kidding—’

  ‘Don’t fret, I’ve heard all about Mr Johnson, but I do need copies of those interview tapes.’

  ‘Yes, sir.’ Deans said reluctantly.

  ‘Fine. That’s that part done. Now… your man Groves; we have pumped a lot of resources into this job and a week has already slipped by. The time and effort we have put in and continue to put in will count for nothing without a positive outcome. The significance of this job hasn’t been missed by the Chief, who wants an early Somerset result. The press are likely to be all over this and DI Feather will be facing the music, so I need to ensure we are portrayed in a positive light. Being a Devon murder it is highly irregular to have someone of your skill mix, shall we say, seconded to assist when they are sure to have competent officers available.’ He paused. ‘Are we at a stage where we can go to the CPS tonight for a charging decision?’

  Deans did not respond at first and he wondered if the boss had practised, or if that shite just came naturally to him. He found it unbelievable to be having this political conversation on a Saturday night with the DCI. The scowl he had been wearing since the end of the interview was not fading.

  ‘Sir, thank you for coming in tonight to keep me appraised of the management thoughts on this case. I am acutely aware of the cross-border issues; however, there is still a very long way to go with this investigation. We are not at a stage where we can get a charging decision tonight because I don’t believe Carl Groves is our man.’

  The boss frowned, but Deans continued unhindered. ‘I suspect that a third party, as yet unidentified, may have some valuable information for us.’ Deans then stunned himself by what next came out of his mouth. ‘I have to be honest, sir, I don’t give a shit whether this job belongs in Devon or Somerset. The fact is I’ve been working on it flat ou
t since Monday. My wife hasn’t seen me and I’ve been living between two counties throughout the week. I’ve seen the body and spent crucial time with the family. They trust me and we have a rapport. I’m the only person, be it here or in Devon, who has the faintest idea of what has happened. Groves did not kill Amy Poole. He may even have seen the killer, but a lot of work still needs to be done before we know that for sure and I’m the best person to do that. Sir.’

  The DCI glowered ominously. He was a man highly regarded in the station, but he also came with a fierce reputation.

  ‘Andy, have you been getting enough rest? You seem, shall we say, on edge.’

  ‘No, sir, in a word. I’m completely knackered but crime won’t crack itself and in the absence of anyone else giving a damn about this case, up until now it seems; I’ve had little choice in the matter.’

  ‘Well, now I’m giving you that choice. I have discussed it with DS Savage this evening and we have agreed to release you on secondment, for one month only, or alternatively, I can pull you out of the investigation with immediate effect and you can resume normal duties. So, what’s it to be?’

  It was an easy professional decision to make, but unbelievably tough from a personal perspective. It would undoubtedly mean living away from home. Maria would freak out.

  Deans looked away; his pounding forehead reminded him how tired he was, but his thoughts turned to Janet and Ian Poole.

  ‘I want to stay on the case, boss. It’s reached a significant stage.’

  ‘Fine. Your dedication hasn’t gone unnoticed, Andy.’

  Before leaving, Deans updated Bellamy with the content of the interview. The boss agreed with Deans; Groves was to be bailed, having spent the last thirty hours in custody, but on the proviso that he adhered to strict bail conditions. The last thing they needed was for Groves to be the most compelling storyteller the station had known.

  Deans returned to the office. All the lights were out apart from one solitary strip of fluorescence above his desk. It was a stark image confirming that this investigation was beginning to dominate his life.

  A note was Blu-Tacked to his computer monitor. He tore it off and held it beneath the light.