The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  Deans led the way through the hallway and into the kitchen. The further he entered, the chillier he became. He looked over his shoulder; Savage was right on his tail.

  ‘You feeling any colder, Mick?’ Deans asked.

  ‘It’s a cold day,’ Savage said pushing Deans forwards with his hands. ‘Let me tell you now, Deano. I’m not wasting all this manpower for very long. One hour tops, and then I’m pulling the troops away. You can stay as long as you like, but I’ve got proper work to be getting on with.’

  Deans nodded. He did not know how long Denise needed, but he realised he was fortunate to have the team there in any event. Deans continued toward the rear of the property, Denise was now alongside him and the others were trailing.

  ‘Can you feel that?’ she whispered to Deans.

  ‘Why is it only us?’ he replied quietly. Denise shook her head.

  Deans unlocked the back door and walked down the dozen or so concrete steps to the rear garden area. Every step he took increased his inner chill.

  Denise suddenly hooked her arm around his. ‘He’s here,’ she said.

  ‘I know,’ Deans whispered. ‘What do we do?’

  Denise shook her head. ‘We wait for contact.’

  Deans walked ahead and scoured the outdoor area. Most of the ground was laid to lawn – albeit tufted and coarse. His eyes rested on a large rectangular section of wooden decking in the corner where a high fence joined to the back of the house. He called Nathan Parsons over and asked him to take snaps of the area with his camera.

  ‘Got your screwdriver?’ Parsons asked playfully and began assembling his photographic equipment.

  Deans noticed Denise had returned inside the house. He told Parsons to crack on and headed back up the steps into the kitchen.

  Savage was now sitting in a chair, looking about as disinterested as he possibly could.

  ‘Where’s Denise?’ Deans asked.

  Savage tittered under his breath. ‘Upstairs I think. Looked a bit upset about something.’

  Deans jogged up the stairs and found her in the main bedroom. As soon as he entered the room, Denise rushed to him and latched her arms tightly around him.

  ‘I saw it,’ she said. ‘I saw the murder.’

  The hairs lifted on Dean’s neck. ‘What did you see?’ he asked urgently.

  ‘A fight… in the kitchen between two men. A girl… a young girl gave one of them a knife… he… he stabbed the man in the chest, like this—’ Denise clenched her fist with an imaginary blade coming out of the bottom of her hand and repeatedly jabbed it forwards through the cool air.

  ‘Her dad?’ Deans asked.

  ‘He was just a little man, but full of rage.’

  ‘What happened next?’ Deans asked.

  Denise rocked her head. ‘They… panicked…. dragged the body down the steps and the man dug a large hole.’

  ‘Could you see exactly where the body was dumped?’

  Denise was staring into space.

  ‘Denise? Could you show me where the body was buried?’

  ‘Yes,’ she whispered.

  ‘What about the money?’ Deans asked.

  She shook her head. ‘I don’t know about the money,’ she breathed.

  Deans helped her back down the stairs and they joined Parsons in the garden. Denise looked around briefly and then pointed towards the decked area.

  ‘Over there?’ Deans asked. Denise looked away and nodded.

  Half-an-hour later, and the decking was all but removed, exposing a paved area approximately fifteen feet long and six feet wide. Everybody at the scene, including Savage, was now gathered around the aged mossy patio.

  ‘We need to get this up,’ Deans said turning to Savage.

  ‘Not a hope,’ Savage replied. ‘Unless you’ve got a pneumatic drill?’

  ‘We’ll have to call Support Group,’ Deans said.

  ‘I’m not doing that,’ Savage said. He put a hand on Deans’ shoulder. ‘Come on; let’s just call it a day. We can at least say we gave it a chance.’

  Deans turned to Denise. Her face looked as disappointed as his thoughts. A door slammed loudly from inside and everyone turned at the same time to look back towards the house.

  Savage scowled and made it obvious he was conducting a head count.

  ‘Are we expecting anyone else?’ he asked.

  ‘That wasn’t one of us,’ Denise said and began walking slowly back towards the house.

  Deans jogged up alongside. ‘Was it him?’

  ‘That was contact,’ she said.

  ‘I’m just going inside with Denise,’ Deans shouted back to the others.

  Savage waved approval and then deliberately tapped the face of his watch for Deans’ benefit.

  Denise went first and entered the kitchen. Deans could see the vapour of his breath suspended in front of his nose. He shuddered as a frigid jacket tightened around his body.

  ‘He’s here,’ Denise said. ‘Stay close to me. Don’t do anything without telling me first.’

  Deans nodded keenly; he did not need telling twice.

  They crept through hallway to the base of the stairs and peered up. Denise faced Deans and exaggerated a nod. Her eyes were wide and her pupils as small as pinpricks. She took the first tentative steps of the stairs and Deans followed as close behind as her shadow.

  They stopped at the top landing, side-by-side. Denise pointed to the master bedroom. The door was closed.

  Deans frowned – he was certain he had left it open. He took several gentle steps forwards. Denise followed. There was no sound – just the suppressed breaths of two nervous people.

  Deans reached for the handle but Denise snatched his hand away before he could touch it. She shook her head and bunched her eyes in a display of apparent pain. A thunderous crash sounded the other side of the door and Denise jumped backwards with fear painted across her face.

  Deans lunged for the handle and forced it open with all his strength. The door opened a fraction before crashing against a solid object on the other side, causing Deans to slam against the door with the side of his face.

  ‘Sodding hell,’ he moaned and rubbed his cheek. He jabbed at the door handle again, but each time he hit something hard on the other side.

  Determined to see inside, he lay down on the floor, lined the soles of his shoes up with the sweet spot of the door, and whacked it repeatedly until a gap appeared large enough to look through.

  Deans jumped to his feet. He looked for Denise, but she was holding back, he edged towards the gap in the door and stuck his head through the narrow space, but nothing could have prepared him for what he saw.

  Chapter 30

  The others came rushing up the stairs, alerted by the sound of Deans shouting. By the time they had reached him, Deans was sitting in the hallway alongside Denise with her arms wrapped around his shoulders.

  ‘What happened?’ Savage asked, out of breath from running – probably for the first time in several years.

  ‘He’s okay,’ Denise said softly. ‘He’s just had a shock, that’s all.’

  The others started paying attention to the gap in the bedroom door.

  ‘Wait,’ Denise shouted. ‘Not without me.’

  Mitchell scowled. ‘Who the hell are you, anyway?’

  ‘She’s right,’ Deans said, raising his head from his knees. ‘Don’t go inside. Please.’

  Savage hesitated; his hand was already on the door knob. ‘You look like you’ve seen a ghost, Deano.’

  Deans bumped Denise’s arm from his shoulder and pulled himself up from the floor. He noticed Nathan Parsons looking at him with unusual curiosity. Deans went up to the doorway and diverted Savage’s fingers from the handle. He turned and faced the others, his back to the door. ‘You can come in, but I’m not promising any of us are safe,’ he said.

  Savage looked at Deans like he had just been knocked around the chops with a wet fish.

  Denise stood beside Deans and blocked the open space leading into the
room.

  ‘Denise first,’ Deans said. ‘And anything you see… well, don’t say you weren’t warned.’ He pushed the door to the limit of the toppled wardrobe on the other side and gestured for Denise to walk inside first.

  She hovered at the doorway, turned to Deans and whispered, ‘He’s gone.’

  ‘I know,’ Deans replied as warmth began to return to his limbs.

  ‘Come on, Deano,’ Savage said. ‘Stop pissing around.’

  He shoved his way beyond Deans and squeezed his mid-rift into the Savage-sized space created by the partially opened door. Deans and Parsons followed closely behind, but Savage stopped abruptly in the middle of the room. He turned back to face Deans, his face was a picture of bewilderment.

  ‘It was Charlie,’ Deans said blankly in response to the question Savage could not get out of his wide open mouth.

  Deans looked beyond Savage to the facing wall. The master bed was turned up onto its side and the legs were thrust several inches into the wall, with plasterboard and masonry debris scattered all around the floor. Deans walked up to Savage, tapped him on the shoulder and pointed with a finger directly above their heads. Words were scribed onto the ceiling in masonry dust: LEAVE IT ALONE… OR YOU WILL DIE.

  Savage covered his mouth.

  ‘It’s okay,’ Denise said from behind them making them all jump. ‘He’s gone for now. He has made his point.’

  ‘Just…’ Savage stuttered nervously, ‘… who is this he you keep talking about?’

  ‘Charlie-Boy,’ Deans said, stepping between Savage and Denise. ‘A sixties hoodlum, who died and is buried somewhere within these grounds.’ Deans looked up again at the ceiling. ‘And he is terrorising anyone that he thinks is after his money.’

  ‘Come on?’ Savage laughed nervously.

  ‘Do you need to look again?’ Deans asked pointing towards the upturned bed.

  Savage shrugged and rolled his eyes.

  ‘Wait outside, Nate,’ Deans said to Parsons, who did not need a second invitation.

  Once Parsons was out of earshot, Deans stood directly in front of Savage, inches from his face. ‘Maybe now you’ll start to believe me?’

  ‘Andy, this is bollocks, come on? I mean… fuck me. I mean… that just can’t happen.’

  ‘It can. And it just did,’ Denise said unsympathetically.

  ‘You,’ Savage said, jabbing a finger above Deans’ shoulder in her direction. ‘You can shut it.’

  ‘Hey,’ Deans shouted, pushing Savage back by the shoulders. ‘You’re not speaking to Denise like that.’

  Savage batted them both away with the back of his hand, mumbled something incoherent and left the room.

  ‘You need him to believe this, or someone is going to get hurt,’ Denise said quietly.

  Deans held his hands out in a submissive pose and shrugged. ‘I’d better check on Mick,’ he said. ‘He’s not open to this kind of stuff.’

  Savage was pacing back and forth in the hallway.

  ‘Nobody is asking you to understand,’ Deans said stopping Savage in his tracks.

  ‘Fucking ghosts?’ Savage said. ‘Fucking ghosts?’ he shouted louder.

  ‘You give me a better explanation and I’m all ears,’ Deans said calmly.

  Savage clamped his jaw and stared back at the bedroom. ‘Okay,’ he said. ‘So let’s say this is a ghost. Why is it here?’

  ‘The money,’ Denise said stepping alongside Deans. ‘He is here for the money that was stolen from him. He has no other purpose to remain here.’

  Savage shook his head. ‘Money stolen by?’ he asked impatiently.

  ‘George Fenwick,’ Deans said.

  Savage pulled a face. ‘What, the old bugger in the nursing home?’ Savage’s mobile phone began to ring in his pocket, and then Deans’ phone sounded as well.

  They looked at each other for a beat and simultaneously dug a hand into their pockets.

  Deans looked at his screen, withheld number. He glanced over to Savage, who looking at his phone shrugged. ‘Withheld,’ Savage said.

  Deans sneaked a glance at Denise. She acknowledged him with a nod and a look towards the stairs. ‘I think it’s time we went outside and checked on Nate,’ Deans said.

  Savage heaved a despairing breath. ‘Suppose I’d better see if we’ve got a Support Group in the area.’

  ‘And a dog,’ Denise interjected.

  Deans and Savage looked at her.

  ‘Dogs can sense far more than humans,’ she said.

  As they made for the stairs Deans held Denise back until the others were sufficiently out of hearing range.

  ‘Can’t you get rid of the spirit… tell it to bugger off?’ Deans asked.

  Denise shook her head. ‘He is a powerful energy. You’ve just seen that for yourself.’

  ‘But why is he doing all of this?’ Deans whispered.

  ‘He doesn’t know he is dead,’ Denise replied. ‘He is protecting whatever he believes is rightfully his.’

  Deans locked his fingers behind his head and huffed.

  ‘You could leave him,’ Denise said. ‘Walk away. You still can.’

  ‘Two people have died in this house,’ Deans said lowering his arms. He spoke down to the floor, ‘And I can’t allow that to happen again.’

  ‘Does anyone else at your station believe a spirit is responsible for the deaths?’ Denise asked.

  Deans shook his head and scratched the back of his neck.

  ‘Maybe this is your calling. Your spiritual purpose,’ Denise said softly.

  Deans drew a deep breath from the cool air and dragged a hand over the front of his face, covering his open mouth. He looked back towards the master bedroom briefly.

  ‘Can I say something?’ Denise asked.

  Deans dipped his head, still looking towards the partially opened door.

  ‘You will need all of your energy for Maria,’ Denise said. ‘Why not hand this job over to somebody else?’

  Deans laughed through his nostrils. ‘Who? Who else can I trust? They already think I’m bloody nuts,’ he replied.

  Denise formed a down-turned smile. ‘That’s the curse of our kind,’ she murmured quietly.

  Our kind? Whatever happened to my boring old life?

  Chapter 31

  DS Jackson and DC Gold arrived at the prison and made their way through the security checks deeper into the beast. There was always something edgy about being a cop inside prison; a certain vulnerability, even though the inmates were confined. They had to sign over all of their protective equipment at the air lock; their gas, extendable batons and protective vests – all left under lock and key with the first line of prison security. Even though they were wearing suits, they still stood out as the filth. Maybe it was the way they held themselves, the way they walked, or maybe the way they looked into the eyes of the shit-bags who were giving it large on the other side of the wire fence.

  Jackson had led the way, alongside the prison officer as Gold brought up the rear to the innuendo and jeers dished out by the inmates, just feet away.

  “I don’t mind you gripping me,” one prisoner shouted. “Come and see what I’ve got for you down here,” another said, tugging his tracksuit bottoms out at the waist while delving a hand deep inside his trousers.

  ‘Don’t look at them,’ Jackson said to Gold as they walked on by.

  Gold kept her head low and did as she was told, even though a hock of spittle landed on the side of her arm.

  They were shown through to a small room with no furniture other than a stainless steel desk bolted to the floor and two stainless chairs on either side.

  ‘Wait here,’ the prison officer said. ‘I’ll just go and get it.’

  Gold turned to Jackson with a puzzled expression.

  Soon after, Ash Babbage came into the room flanked by two guards. He immediately noticed Gold and began to smile.

  ‘Sit down,’ Jackson said to Babbage, who finally looked away from Gold and did as was expected.

  Jackso
n turned to the guards. ‘Do you both have to stay in here?’

  The guards grunted and gave Jackson a unfriendly glare, but left the room.

  Babbage was sitting down facing two empty seats. Jackson was pacing the room and Gold was standing in the corner beside the only door in or out.

  ‘We’re just waiting for your brief,’ Jackson said to Babbage who did not respond and continued staring at Gold. ‘Suddenly decided you need one, eh?’ Jackson continued.

  Babbage slowly turned his attention onto Jackson.

  ‘You more than anyone should know that I didn’t need one. But it seems, thanks to Miss Gold over there, I require one to get me through the red-tape of leaving this place.’

  ‘Enjoyed solitary have you?’ Jackson sniped.

  ‘Hmm,’ Babbage spluttered. ‘Had you done your homework on me properly, you would have known that a gentleman’s prison was not appropriate for me in the first place.’

  ‘Ah, yes,’ Jackson said. ‘Well, had you not impersonated your dead brother and lived a lie for the last twenty years, we wouldn’t’ve had to, would we?’

  Babbage smiled and looked back over to Gold who was still leaning against the door.

  ‘Hello, Miss Gold,’ Babbage said. ‘And how is my second favourite detective doing?’

  Gold coughed and tightened her folded arms around her midriff.

  Jackson perched himself on the far edge of the table, with his back to Gold, blocking direct line of sight between Gold and Babbage. Jackson was close enough to be imposing, but far enough away to be outside of Babbage’s striking range.

  Gold shuffled to one side and as she looked on, she noticed Babbage making unusual facial responses to Jackson as he spoke.

  ‘Trouble with London Barristers,’ Jackson said, ‘they have to travel all the way down here from the big smoke. We could be here a while, just the three of us.’

  Babbage blinked, looked towards Gold and then back to Jackson with a half-smile.

  ‘So you will be on electronic curfew, more than likely,’ Jackson said. ‘That means you will have to stay in your home between the hours that the judge stipulates. Any deviation from that and you could end up back in prison.’