The Detective Deans Mystery Collection

by James D Mortain

  ‘How many?’

  Sarah rocked her head on the pillow. ‘Three. Four maybe.’

  Deans nodded.

  Sarah looked at Deans’ hospital gown. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘Fine. I’m fine. Thank you.’

  Sarah reached for her mask and pulled it away from her face.

  ‘They told me what you did,’ she said.

  Deans shrugged dismissively.

  ‘Come here. Come closer.’

  Deans was already in her personal space.

  ‘Closer,’ Sarah whispered.

  Deans felt his heart clanging like a church bell. He cleared his throat and moved a fraction closer.

  Sarah slid her hand from his grasp and reached around the back of his head pulling him near, until their lips were touching.

  Deans battled to keep his eyes open, but his instincts were stronger than his will. Her lips were warm, tender and oh so welcoming. He felt her tongue prod the inside of his lips. He pulled back, but she forced his head onto her lips and held him there for way longer than a “thank you” needed to be. Their mouths parted. Deans could feel the race of his breath bouncing back off her face. He straightened up and took a backward step.

  ‘I could never thank you enough,’ she said.

  You just did.

  His tongue lapped moisture from his lips and he ran a hand through his hair and steadied his breath. ‘You’d do the same for me.’

  She looked around his face and formed a poignant smile. ‘I’d do… anything for you, now.’

  Deans reached for his tie, but remembered he was in a medical gown, and instead, brushed imaginary lint from his chest. ‘Um, tell me about these people. Did you see their faces?’

  Sarah slowly blinked. ‘They had masks.’

  ‘Masks? Can you describe them?’

  Sarah placed a hand to her face. Her eyes suddenly widened. ‘Scary,’ she breathed, ‘Like… like… long black beaks.’

  ‘Birds beaks?’

  ‘Yes… like a bird’s face.’

  Deans’ fingertips crackled through the stubble on his jaw. ‘Men, women?’ he asked.

  Sarah shook her head. ‘Nobody spoke to me.’

  Deans frowned. ‘Nobody spoke the entire time you were with them?’

  ‘I don’t know. They put something over my face and I fell asleep. I don’t remember anything else and I can’t recall any voices.’

  ‘How tall were they? What else were they wearing?’

  Sarah shook her head. ‘I’m sorry.’

  ‘It’s okay,’ Deans said running both hands behind his neck and arching his back. ‘The main thing is you are still here. Hey, can you do me a favour? If Jackson asks you about anything, anything at all, just say you don’t remember, okay?’

  Sarah nodded.

  ‘Okay,’ Deans repeated.

  She reached out for his hand. ‘Are you going?’

  ‘Yes, I have to get back to the office.’

  Sarah pulled her sheets towards her face. ‘I don’t want you to go.’

  ‘I have to. I need to finish this.’

  Sarah let go of his hand and brought the sheet up over her chin.

  Deans turned away.

  ‘Andy?’

  He stopped and looked back. Sarah was the picture of vulnerability.

  ‘I owe you everything.’

  Deans waved the suggestion aside. ‘You owe me nothing.’ He smiled, turned and went off to find Jackson.

  Chapter 29

  Jackson waited while Deans had his leg checked over and his orthopaedic boot replaced. Neither of them spoke as Jackson began the half an hour journey back towards the police station. But the closer they got to Torworthy, the less Jackson seemed able to control his monastic silence.

  ‘You were in there a while – with Gold,’ he finally said.

  ‘Yep.’

  ‘What was she saying?’

  Deans lifted his brows. ‘Nothing. She can’t remember anything about her ordeal. She just wanted to thank me.’

  ‘Nothing? Not so much as a description – man – woman – child?’

  Deans looked out through his window and saw his reflection as he spoke. ‘No. Nothing.’

  Jackson drove in silence for five more minutes and then he looked across at Deans. ‘You’re quiet,’ he said.

  ‘Am I?’

  ‘Yeah. Come on, you should be proud of what you did today.’

  ‘I am.’ Deans looked back at Jackson for the first time that journey. ‘Would you do me a favour and drop me off at Rayon Vert, please?’

  ‘Your friend’s shop, is still open?’

  ‘Yeah. She’s got some clothes for me there.’

  ‘Sure. Be quick though. The detective chief inspector is holding a briefing at the nick at nine p.m. I’m sure she’ll want to see you there.’

  ‘There’s a briefing tonight?’

  Jackson bobbed his head. ‘This job just got political.’

  ‘You go on,’ Deans said. ‘I’ll get a lift.’

  He waited for Jackson to drive off and then entered the shop. The door chimes brought Denise out from the back room.

  ‘Andy. What has happened to you now? We can’t keep you away from hospitals can we?’

  ‘Did you hear about Ruby Mansell’s place?’

  ‘Of course. It’s all over social media.’ She looked him over from top to toe. ‘You were there?’

  ‘Yeah,’ Deans muttered. ‘I told Jackson that you had some clothes for me. Is there anywhere still open in town?’

  ‘It’s your lucky night. Thursdays are late opening in the department store up the road. What do you need?’

  ‘Would you mind? I can’t really go out in these.’

  ‘Where did you get those awful trousers? They’re half way up your ankle.’

  ‘Custody clothes. Jackson picked them up for me.’

  ‘Well, that’s kind of him – he really is turning a corner.’

  Deans cocked his head. ‘Any chance of a brew?’

  ‘Before or after I get you some appropriate attire?’

  ‘Before, I need to be back in the office for nine.’

  ‘You’re going back tonight? You should rest.’

  Deans shook his head. ‘Crime doesn’t rest, neither can I.’

  ‘Is it time to leave this alone?’ Denise asked. ‘Get back to grieving.’

  ‘Never.’

  ‘Andy, you are in incredible danger. We all are.’

  ‘I know and that’s why I can’t be seen to walk away from it now. The danger will continue for the rest of you.’ He stared ahead into empty space. ‘I have to end this for all the victims. For all of the families.’ He lowered his head. ‘That’s what Maria would want me to do.’

  ‘You have far more to offer this world than to avenge those victims… and Maria.’

  Deans opened his eyes and lifted his head. He stood tall and slowly filled his chest with air. She was right. Denise was always right. He was feeling increasingly different – that was the best he could describe it; neither confident nor fragile, strong or weak. The craziest thing was he was feeling an inner state of completeness. That was the last emotion he should have been experiencing, but he was not able to control it.

  ‘Everything’s going to be okay,’ he said. ‘Whatever comes our way, everything will work out the way it is intended.’

  Denise cocked a smile. ‘Pleased to hear it,’ she said.

  He nodded. ‘I don’t know what I have to do. I just know that it will be done, somehow.’

  Denise looked at him with a satisfied grin. ‘It’s happening,’ she said.

  ‘What’s happening?’

  ‘Your spiritual graduation.’

  I like that, Deans thought. My spiritual graduation.

  Denise walked off and soon returned with his coffee. ‘I’ll be quick. Ten minutes tops. Thirty-four waist, regular length and large sized top, yes?’

  Deans recoiled. ‘How did you know?’

  ‘Seven years’ worki
ng in a gentleman’s retailer when I was young.’ Denise winked and left Deans in the shop.

  He sipped his drink and walked slowly around the display cabinets. He wasn’t really paying attention to the stones and crystals, but he needed something to do to kill time, and then he stopped and peered closer at an item of jewellery; a thick golden coloured ring on the lower display shelf. He clawed at the glass door but it was locked. He removed his phone, took several photographs and zoomed in on the images.

  There was a text around the outside of the band – not anything that he could decipher, but it was clearly saying something.

  The door opened and in walked Denise with two large department store carrier bags.

  ‘Hope you like them. I’m not going back, unless they don’t fit of course.’ She gave him a frazzled stare. ‘The Boxing Day sales – it’s bedlam out there.’ She hesitated. ‘Are you okay?’

  ‘What’s this?’ Deans said pointing to the display of golden trinkets and jewellery.

  ‘Gold. It’s not just stones that are precious in Rayon Vert, you know.’

  ‘No, I mean what is this.’ He bent over and tapped the glass beside the ring.

  ‘Oh, that? Ancient Runes on a twenty-four carat gold ring.’

  ‘Runes?’

  ‘Old language.’

  ‘Viking language?’

  ‘It could have been. It was around even before those times.’

  Deans straightened up. ‘Can I see it?’

  ‘Of course.’

  Denise rummaged behind the counter and came back with a small bunch of keys. She unlocked the cabinet and dropped the ring into Deans’ open hand.

  ‘Can I borrow this?’ he asked.

  ‘That’s worth two hundred and forty pounds.’

  ‘I’ll keep it safe. I promise.’

  ‘Okay. Okay.’

  ‘What does it say?’ he asked.

  ‘That one? I think it says, love, friendship, eternity.’

  ‘That’s a nice message.’

  ‘Yes, it’s a lovely piece, but it’s the only one I have.’

  Deans smiled. ‘It’s okay it’ll come back as new.’

  ‘You should change. It’s getting close to eight-thirty.’

  ‘And you need to lock up.’

  ‘Why?’

  ‘Because you’re coming too.’

  Chapter 30

  Deans and Denise entered the CID department to find the room buzzing with staff. He immediately recognised Detective Chief Inspector Fowler who had an entourage of at least five uniformed officers with varying numbers of pips and stripes on their shoulders. DCI Fowler was Senior Investigating Officer (SIO) for the Amy Poole murder. She was strong and a mightily impressive boss.

  ‘Ah, Detective Deans,’ she said clocking Deans as he walked further into the room. She approached and embraced him with a full wrap-around hug. Deans’ arms were rigid by his side.

  ‘Detective, you have done an extremely brave duty this evening. My officer is only alive as a result of your extraordinary lack of self-preservation.’

  ‘Ma’am,’ Deans replied simply.

  She looked down at his hard plastic boot and shook her head. ‘Absolutely extraordinary. You know, I’m considering putting you forward for the National Police Bravery Awards.’ The DCI then noticed Denise. ‘Oh, hello.’ She took Denise by the hand. ‘You must be the clairvoyant—’

  ‘She’s a medium,’ Deans said.

  The DCI bobbed a shoulder and emitted a low grunt, that if translated would say something like, Yeah, whatever.

  ‘We all owe Denise a huge debt of gratitude,’ Deans said.

  ‘Yes. I’m sure.’

  The DCI and Denise exchanged the same pained smile.

  ‘I haven’t had a chance to formally pass you my sincere condolences, Detective Deans. I am truly sorry for your loss.’

  ‘Thank you, Ma’am.’

  Deans caught Jackson staring from across the room as the boss continued to speak. Jackson stroked his chin and turned away. Deans was introduced to the entourage in turn, but he kept a watchful eye on Jackson who stood up from his seat and left the room.

  ‘Are you fit enough to re-join us?’ a uniformed chief inspector asked.

  ‘Yes, sir, thank you. I’m fine.’

  ‘Are you certain,’ the chief inspector probed further.

  Deans blinked slowly. His hand was still being shaken enthusiastically by the senior officer.

  ‘Yes,’ Deans said. ‘I haven’t felt better.’

  The chief inspector let go of his hand. ‘Good to hear it.’

  ‘Just how did you know where to find Detective Gold?’ DCI Fowler asked.

  Deans thought about his answer for a split-second. ‘Instinct, Ma’am.’

  She laughed. ‘There you go again with that instinct of yours. I don’t know. I think we could all use a little of your instinct, it would probably make us all better coppers.’

  ‘It would,’ Denise cut in.

  They all looked at Denise. Deans saw the surge of fear in her eyes and winked at her.

  ‘Right,’ the boss said. ‘Let’s have some order.’

  She stood at the front of the white board and everyone else filed into position – six officers in each of the three rows.

  ‘Apologies for the room size,’ the boss said. ‘But I’m sure we are all adaptable enough that it won’t impair our abilities to listen and think.’

  The DCI looked around the room at the seated officers. She paced back and forth. Deans was next to Denise at the end of the front row.

  She stopped in the centre of the room.

  ‘Ladies and gentlemen, we are facing a heinous and dangerous foe. These perpetrators have shown an extreme desire to kill in the most inhumane of ways.’ She paused. ‘They have no boundaries. They have no discretion. I refer to them as our enemy and this is how you must view them. It means nothing to them that you are police officers… we already know that they have been among us and they are willing to take our lives to safeguard their identities.’ She looked at Deans. ‘We do not know how many of them we are dealing with or how deeply they infiltrate our community, but we do know they have a ruthless lust for murder.’ She turned to the whiteboard.

  ‘Look at these names.’

  She took a red pen and wrote DC Sarah Gold alongside the others. ‘You should all by now know that an attempt was made on the life of our own Detective Sarah Gold earlier today and it was only thanks to the timely and considerably brave intervention of Detective Sergeant Jackson and Detective Deans that she is still alive.’

  Deans looked along the line of seated officers and saw Jackson peering back at him.

  ‘I’ve been speaking to the staff in charge of Sarah’s care and I’m pleased to report that they envisage her discharge from hospital tomorrow.’

  Deans sneaked another glance at Jackson, who was now resting his chin in his hands.

  ‘We have Detective Paul Ranford in custody and I propose we conduct staged interviews of him as the investigation progresses.’

  A hand went up from somewhere behind Deans’ head.

  ‘Yes,’ the boss said.

  ‘I know Paul Ranford,’ the officer said. ‘He’s an experienced investigator. He will know every trick in the book to avoid implication.’

  ‘Well then, it’s just as well he’s already admitted to the murders of Ash Babbage – his accomplice, and to the murder of Maria Deans and her unborn child.’

  The DCI dipped a glance at Deans.

  ‘He is a crucial piece of this increasingly complex puzzle and he is ours to interrogate. That starts tomorrow. We will produce him from prison and bring him to us at the county custody unit. The interview team will be DS Jackson and Detective Deans.’ She looked over at Deans. ‘Is that okay with you, Detective?’

  Deans felt eyes boring into him from all directions. ‘Perfect, Ma’am,’ he replied.

  ‘Yes,’ the DCI said, pointing to another raised hand behind Deans.

  ‘Is th
at wise, Ma’am? I mean, Detective Deans is heavily involved in all of this.’

  It was the same officer as before, a uniformed inspector. Deans shifted his body sideways so that he could see the officer and take him all in.

  ‘This line of action is entirely appropriate, Jonathan. From the early stages of the Amy Poole investigation – the murder that started all of this for us, it was Detective Deans getting the results. It was Detective Deans who was driving the investigation forwards, and I want him to do the same again. Ranford may well be a highly trained police interviewer, but he is not Detective Deans.’

  Deans locked eyes with the inspector who replied, ‘Yes, Ma’am.’

  ‘Good,’ the DI said. ‘Anything else?’

  ‘I think you’ll find Deans has an interesting theory about the murders that everyone should hear,’ Jackson said.

  ‘Would you care to share that with us?’ the DCI asked Deans.

  A dull noise fizzed inside of Deans’ head. He looked at Jackson who wrapped one knee over the other and gazed back with a smug expression.

  Deans drew a deep breath. ‘Ma’am, there is a place that I believe is linked to the murders.’

  ‘How so?’ she asked.

  Deans sneaked a look at Denise, who prodded the side of his leg.

  ‘Are you aware of the ancient local history, Ma’am?’

  The DCI shook her head. ‘No. I don’t believe I am.’

  ‘I will try to be concise, Ma’am,’ Deans said.

  Jackson rolled his eyes.

  ‘Sandymere Bay has a Viking history. As you may know, they had particular ways of appeasing their Gods.’

  The DCI covered her mouth with a hand and held it in place. This was not a good sign. She wasn’t happy with something he was saying.

  Deans hesitated. ‘There were sacrifices and beheadings.’

  The DCI started to walk the room as Deans continued to speak.

  ‘I found a place in Sandymere Bay believed to be the mass burial ground of the Viking Army.’ Deans looked over his shoulder. Everyone was looking at him, some with open mouths, but nobody spoke.

  ‘It’s called Bone Hill.’

  The DCI looked confused with a ridged brow and screwed up eyes.

  ‘I’m sorry; I don’t think I understand something here,’ she said. ‘How is any of this – interesting though it might be, connected to our investigation?’