The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  Deans stood slowly from his seat. His body buzzed with adrenalin as it prepared to fight. He looked back into the main office as a group of heads ducked down behind their computer screens like a mob of meerkats seeking shelter.

  The DI was already outside his office directing the officers with an outstretched arm. ‘This way please, lads.’

  As Deans neared the DI, he stopped and faced him, toe-to-toe.

  ‘Come on,’ the DI whispered. ‘Please.’

  ‘Come on, bud,’ one of the others officers said to Deans.

  Deans curled his lip and followed them through the foyer into a small room with a table and three chairs. He looked above the door. There was a small camera.

  The first detective did not speak but gestured with his hand for Deans to sit in the chair facing the camera, and the two detectives took their seats opposite him.

  Deans hovered for a moment and considered his situation, before himself taking the ‘hot’ seat.

  Deans glared at the mute detectives and jabbed a hand towards the camera knowing that Thornton was watching.

  ‘What the fuck is this?’ he seethed. ‘Are you arresting me?’

  The second detective spoke over Deans’ angry rant.

  ‘I am Detective Richardson. This is Detective Davies. We just have a few questions of you.’

  ‘Am I under caution?’ Deans asked.

  ‘Did you hear us caution you?’ Davies said sarcastically.

  Deans glowered at Davies who had his day-book out on the desk and his pen at the ready.

  He was one of those cops you could instantly tell spent far too much time in the gym, looking at himself in the mirror. He was wearing a short-sleeved shirt, exposing a thick black tribal tattoo on his sizeable bicep.

  Deans gazed up at the camera. His jaw locked tight.

  ‘Describe your relationship with Denise Moon?’ Richardson asked.

  Deans lowered his focus onto Richardson, pouted his bottom lip and shook his head.

  Richardson half-smiled. ‘This is low-key stuff, Detective Deans—’

  ‘Cut the shite,’ Deans said. ‘I’m really not in the mood.’

  ‘Suffer with moods do we?’ Davies asked smugly.

  Deans glared at him again.

  Davies lowered his pen onto his day-book and wrapped the palm of one hand around a clenched fist.

  ‘Your wife has been missing for coming on a month now, Detective,’ Davies said.

  ‘Nineteen days,’ Deans retorted immediately.

  ‘Nineteen days, that’s right,’ Davies beamed with a two-hundred-quid cosmetic smile. ‘And we are trying to make sure she’s not missing for twenty, thirty, or sixty days,’ he sneered.

  You condescending bastard.

  ‘Where are you both from?’ Deans asked. ‘I must have missed that part when you introduced yourselves.’

  Davies flicked a sideways glance.

  ‘Dyfed Powys Police,’ Richardson answered.

  Dyfed Powys fucking police, Deans repeated in his head. He looked up at the camera. Cops never investigate officers of their own force – not for the serious stuff, anyway.

  He folded his arms and leaned back against the chair.

  ‘I want someone with me before I answer any other questions,’ he said.

  ‘Andrew…’ Richardson said. ‘Come on. We all want the same thing.’

  Deans slammed both hands onto the table with a loud whack. ‘Do we? Do we want the same things?’

  He made a point of looking at their fingers.

  ‘Neither of you are married,’ he said. ‘Or if you are, you’re trying to hide it. You don’t know what I’m thinking. You don’t know the pain—’

  ‘Well, how about you start by telling us then,’ Davies said, all matter of fact and Hollywood smile.

  ‘Just for the record,’ Deans said, jabbing a pointed finger towards Davies. ‘I’ve met a few wankers in this job over the years, but I reckon you’re right up there with the best of them.’

  ‘Andrew,’ Richardson said, patting down the flames. ‘Come on, please. We are not against you.’

  Deans glared at Richardson. ‘Get that twat out of here,’ he said nodding towards Davies. ‘And get me Thornton.’

  Richardson huffed and ran fingers through his beard. He looked over at Davies and gestured for him to leave the room.

  Davies stood up with a challenging snarl and stare.

  Deans did not speak until he saw Thornton at the door. ‘What the fuck is this?’ Deans shouted before Thornton had the chance to come inside the room.

  ‘Andrew, you know procedure. Come on. Cooperate for all our sakes,’ Thornton said.

  ‘Did Mick Savage know this was going to happen?’ Deans raged.

  Thornton shook his head.

  Deans clamped his jaw. Being belligerent was not going to help Maria, and while they were seeing who could piss the highest up the urinal wall, presumably, nothing was being done to find his wife.

  He scowled at Thornton. ‘Just ask me what you need to know and then get back out there and find my wife.’

  Thornton was poker-faced.

  Richardson spoke, ‘Maria left you before she went missing.’

  ‘Questions, not statements,’ Deans barked. ‘That’s getting us nowhere.’

  Richardson smiled. ‘Okay. Were you having an affair?’

  ‘No,’ Deans said quickly. ‘Next question?’

  ‘Why would Maria leave the stability of her home having just found out she was pregnant?’ Richardson asked.

  Deans stared forcefully at his interrogator and shook his head.

  ‘Describe what you thought about the pregnancy,’ Richardson asked calmly.

  Deans looked away and blinked for the first time in minutes. He pictured Maria.

  ‘I was delighted,’ he uttered. ‘Meant the world to us.’ He snarled at Richardson. ‘Means everything to me.’

  Richardson jogged his head and took notes in his day-book.

  ‘If it meant so much,’ he said down to his page, ‘why were you away from home so often?’

  Deans snorted a false snicker.

  ‘Where are you now, Richardson? You’re not at home. You’re not even on your own patch. Who’s to say your partner isn’t banging the next door neighbour, fucking your inspector, or sobbing into a pillow because you’re not there?’

  Deans screwed up his face.

  ‘We, none of us, know the impact the job has on our other halves, because the job is everything. The job is The Job. Has to be… regardless of the outcome to our personal lives.’

  Thornton stood up and pointed at Richardson. ‘That’s enough, now. I’ve heard enough.’ He held out a hand to Deans. ‘Come on, Andy.’

  Chapter 8

  Neither of them spoke until they reached the DI’s fish bowl office.

  ‘There is something you need to see,’ Thornton said softly.

  Deans stopped in the doorway.

  ‘Please,’ Thornton said. ‘Come in. Close the door.’

  Deans looked over his shoulder. It was just the two of them – and the gang of meerkats, now shielded behind their screens.

  Thornton’s features softened, but his brow twitched. ‘This investigation has escalated, Andy.’ He sniffed loudly. ‘We believe we have… evidence.’

  Deans stiffened. ‘Evidence of what?’

  Thornton cleared his throat. ‘I’m afraid…’ he said hesitating. ‘…I’m afraid we are now treating Maria’s disappearance as murder.’

  Blood plummeted into Deans’ feet and he wobbled.

  Thornton moved towards his desk and spoke as he walked. ‘I’m afraid I must ask you to sign a declaration that will allow officers to look into your bank and internet activity.’

  Deans could not speak. Could not move.

  Thornton lifted a sheet from his desk and held it outstretched in front of Deans. It was a Data Protection Authority – the kind Deans used on a regular basis to satisfy the legal loopholes when looking into specific areas
of a person’s life – such as bank transfers.

  ‘It’ll make life easier, Andy,’ Thornton said. ‘For you. For everyone.’ He waved the form so that it made a rippling noise in front of Dean’s face. Thornton stepped closer. ‘Please?’

  He placed the document in Deans’ hand and handed him his Parker pen.

  ‘For what it might be worth to you, Andy. This is a hell of a thing and I know you have nothing to worry about.’

  Deans looked at him, his eyes heavy and moist. He stepped over to the desk and gave his signature.

  ‘There’s something else,’ Thornton said quietly. ‘I want you to view something.’

  A bead of wetness dropped down Deans’ cheek.

  ‘Shall we go to the video suite?’ Thornton asked moving for the door.

  Video suite?

  Deans acquiesced and followed in Thornton’s footsteps, head bowed.

  The DI led Deans into the tech part of the building and entered another secure area. A male officer was sitting alone before a mosaic of screens in the darkened room.

  ‘Gav, this is Andy Deans,’ the DI announced.

  Gav stood up and shook Deans by the hand. ‘I’m sorry about your missus, mate,’ Gav said and sat back down in his chair.

  ‘Gav, the starting point, please?’ the DI said and turned to Deans. ‘We were able to trace Maria from her last bank transaction.’

  Deans nodded and wiped his nose along the back of his hand.

  ‘Are you okay, Andy?’ Thornton asked, handing Deans a wad of paper tissues.

  Deans grunted.

  A large monitor on the wall brought light to their faces and showed a still image of a woman walking into a building from the outside.

  Deans instinctively stepped toward the screen and his stomach tightened.

  ‘Play it forward,’ Thornton said softly.

  The frame rolled forward. The woman was closing her umbrella in the doorway while struggling to keep hold of a department store shopping bag. She walked forwards and out of shot.

  ‘Is that Maria?’ Thornton asked.

  ‘Yes,’ Deans said breathlessly. With all his will, he wanted to leap into the screen and wrap her in his arms.

  ‘That is the Natwest Bank on Milsom Street,’ Thornton said.

  Deans noticed that Thornton was watching him, rather than the footage on the screen.

  The camera angle changed and was now looking into the bank from above the door. Maria was third in line at the counter.

  ‘How much did Maria withdraw?’ Deans whispered.

  ‘She didn’t,’ Thornton said. ‘She made a balance enquiry.’

  Deans blinked.

  ‘She has online banking, right?’ Thornton asked after a short pause.

  Deans nodded, not taking his eyes away from Maria.

  ‘If she’d been shopping, she would have been checking her account balance – suggesting to me she was looking to buy something else,’ Deans said.

  ‘Me too,’ Thornton said. ‘But sadly we don’t have any other transactions.’

  Deans turned to Thornton. ‘Then this is the start of our window.’

  Thornton held out a hand.

  ‘We’ve got more,’ he said and motioned to the techie.

  The image on the screen changed.

  Deans was now looking at an area he knew well – the Southgate shopping development – only a few minutes’ walk from the nick.

  ‘Watch top left,’ Thornton said.

  Deans trained his eyes that way. He saw the streaming Christmas decorations, shop window displays and bright festive lights.

  ‘It’s quick,’ Thornton said.

  Deans immediately noticed Maria’s yellow and black floral birdcage umbrella amongst a throng of people.

  He ducked and bobbed his head as she moved away from the camera, but he was unable to make her out clearly in the crowd. She was walking in the direction of the train station. Suddenly her umbrella dropped to the ground.

  ‘Where is she?’ Deans asked, frantically combing the screen.

  He turned to the techie, ‘Play that back bit-by-bit.’

  Thornton consented, and the screen flickered with accelerated movement.

  Deans’ eyes burned on each still frame that slowly clicked by and he settled on the final image of Maria’s umbrella now lying upturned on the floor.

  ‘Is that it?’ Deans barked.

  ‘That’s all we have at this time,’ Thornton said.

  ‘Who was behind Maria?’ Deans asked, his voice booming in the silent room.

  ‘We don’t know,’ Thornton said folding his arms.

  ‘But you will? You’ve got more footage to review – right?’ Deans barked.

  Thornton shook his head. ‘We were hoping for more.’

  ‘What about those people?’ Deans was almost shouting now.

  ‘We are doing our best, Andrew.’

  Deans glared at Thornton. ‘There are over sixty police controlled cameras in Bath city centre, not to mention the hundreds of privately operated ones, and you’re trying to tell me those people appeared from nowhere and vanished into thin air?’

  ‘It’s a start,’ Thornton said.

  ‘A fucking start?’

  Deans’ teeth were bared. He pointed angrily at the screen. ‘That’s my wife.’

  The DI stood firm.

  ‘My wife,’ Deans repeated stepping closer to the screen, jabbing the glass with his fingertip and causing puddles to appear on the LCD screen.

  The techie was about to complain about Deans’ finger, but then must have thought better of it and closed his mouth again.

  ‘And that looks to me like the moment my wife has been nabbed––’

  ‘We don’t know that, Andrew,’ Thornton interrupted and stepped into Deans’ personal space.

  ‘Then you tell me what that was,’ Deans snapped loudly.

  Thornton held Deans’ stare and he looked Deans up and down.

  ‘Don’t worry. I’m going to find out.’

  Chapter 9

  Deans stormed up the two flights of stairs and beckoned Savage to follow him into one of the disused offices. ‘Maria has been kidnapped,’ Deans said.

  ‘What?’ Savage’s voice raised several octaves.

  ‘Right here,’ Deans said stabbing a finger towards the window. ‘Under our bloody noses. I watched it for myself on CCTV.’

  Savage frowned and shook his head. ‘What?’ he said again.

  ‘They think I had something to do with it. I’ve just been grilled by two Taffy officers.’ Deans glared at Savage. ‘Did you know about this?’ he snarled.

  ‘No. Absolutely not,’ Savage pleaded. ‘Deano, that’s ridiculous—’

  ‘Tell me about it,’ Deans said. ‘I still can’t believe it.’

  Savage walked over to the door and locked it from the inside.

  ‘Were you formally arrested?’ he asked.

  ‘No,’ Deans said. ‘They weren’t that professional… bastards.’

  ‘What about Thornton?’ Savage asked. ‘He never said a thing to me.’

  ‘It’s been upped to a murder enquiry.’ Deans looked away.

  ‘Shit!’ Savage spat. ‘I am sorry, Deano.’

  ‘It was a trap,’ Deans said. ‘Seems I was the only one who didn’t have a clue what was happening.’

  Savage shook his head. ‘Not the case from this end. We’ve been kept well out of the loop from the sound of things. What is all this about CCTV?’

  ‘I’m going out there now,’ Deans said. ‘Southgate. She was taken at the entrance to the covered section.’

  ‘I think you need to lay off, Deano. You were told from the outset not to get involved by DI Thornton.’

  ‘How can I not get involved when the team entrusted with finding my wife are pissing up the wrong tree and wasting valuable time?’

  ‘Deano, you don’t need this crap. Let it be somebody else’s problem.’

  Deans glared at Savage. ‘This is my problem – twenty-four-seven.
Not thirty-seven contracted hours per week. There is no escape for me, no cosy nights in with the missus, and I will do whatever it takes to find my wife.’

  Savage groaned. ‘In that case,’ he said pulling on his raincoat, ‘I’m coming with you. I need to make sure you don’t drop in the shit.’

  They grabbed their go-bags and walked the short distance to the shopping centre. Deans headed directly for the spot where he saw Maria’s umbrella on the floor from the CCTV footage. The Christmas shoppers were out in force, making it difficult not to be swept along in their tide. Deans planted himself in their path and was bumped and barged in the process. He looked back towards the CCTV camera and scanned the walls nearest to him. There were no cameras obviously closer.

  ‘Was it here?’ Savage asked.

  Deans nodded and carried on looking around him.

  ‘How could she go from this place?’ Savage asked. ‘People would have been everywhere.’

  ‘They were. Come on,’ Deans said and walked with a purpose towards the outlet store opposite them.

  Savage followed and Deans went up to the counter and flashed his warrant card from his wallet.

  ‘Hi,’ he said to the young man serving. ‘Manager, please.’

  The lad looked at Deans’ badge and pressed a button causing a bell to sound on the wall behind his head.

  A flustered woman came to the desk, all huffy and puffy.

  ‘What is it now,’ she said to the lad. ‘I told you already that I am trying to cash-up.’

  The lad signalled over at Deans and Savage, and Deans showed the woman his badge.

  ‘Again?’ she said. ‘Can’t keep you lot away.’

  Deans scowled and looked at Savage.

  ‘Do you have a moment, please?’ Deans asked. ‘I appreciate you are busy and this will not take long.’

  ‘Come on,’ she said with a defeated groan and walked back the way she’d come.

  Deans and Savage followed and exchanged the same troubled glance.

  She took them into a back office – typical retail set-up – desk, computer, kettle, mugs on a round tin tray, comfortable chair, and general mess and clutter.

  ‘I just need to make sure I’m not duplicating work,’ Deans said. ‘But what have the police been here for recently?’

  ‘Well, that stolen coat,’ the manager said as if Deans should know the ins-and-outs of every shoplifting in town.