There was a moment of silence.
Deans stepped backwards and noticed Samantha’s hands trembling, but did not think that was the result of two minutes without alcohol. She lowered her head and dug her fingernails deep into the nape of her neck.
‘There isn’t a ghost,’ she said down at her lap. ‘I was messing with you.’ She glanced up at Deans and shoved her dirty gnawed fingers into her mouth.
She lowered her gaze and teased her lips open with the end of the cider bottle.
‘I want you to go now,’ she said.
Deans sat at his desk staring at the blank computer screen. He had not felt the desire to turn it on since returning from seeing Samantha Fenwick. The remainder of the team buzzed around him.
The final shift of a set was always more productive than the others; nobody wanted to leave their jobs half-baked for their return in a few days’ time.
Deans checked his phone – 4:50 p.m. No messages.
Thornton and his team would now also be leaving for the day. Another twenty-four-hours with no news. Day 20.
He had arranged to visit Maria’s parents at seven; to go over the same old ground, hearing the same what-ifs, appearing to be in more control than they were. But tonight he was planning on letting them down.
Chapter 16
Three hours later and Deans was in North Devon. The journey had given him a good opportunity to catch up with his thoughts.
He rounded a corner onto the estate and pulled in between two parked cars. The house was thirty metres further along the road.
He turned off the engine and sat transfixed to the front of Babbage’s property. He had not considered what he was going to do once he had arrived, but just being there felt like he was doing something… at last.
It was a black night and the stiff wind caused the street lamps to rock like they were waving at him. The dashboard clock glowed 8:45 p.m. He ran his tongue around his dry lips. God, I need a drink.
There had been little movement in the half-an-hour he had been there; a couple of dog walkers braving the gusts, a few passing cars, but not much else.
He heaved a despondent breath and punched her number into his phone. Denise Moon answered on the third ring.
‘Hi, Denise. It’s Andy Deans,’ he said.
‘Andy! Are you okay?’ she asked anxiously.
‘I’m in the area and I was wondering if I could––’
‘Please, come on over,’ she said over the top of him. ‘Where are you now?’
Deans felt a smouldering in his chest where his heart should be. His eyes tracked back towards the house.
‘Torworthy,’ he said.
‘It’s late – are you staying in Devon tonight?’
‘Haven’t thought about it.’
‘Have you eaten anything?’
‘No.’
Denise chuckled. ‘Not much has changed has it?’
‘Some things have,’ he replied with a broken voice.
Denise did not speak straight away and then asked, ‘Do you remember how to get here?’
‘Yeah.’
‘See you shortly then,’ she said and the call ended.
Denise welcomed Deans with a hug.
‘Coffee?’ she asked.
‘Can I stay?’ he replied.
‘Of course.’ Her smile was as generous as she was.
‘Got anything stronger then?’ Deans asked.
She winked. ‘Take a seat,’ she said and walked over to the kitchen area.
‘It’s lovely to see you, Andy,’ Denise said, half-filling two bulbous glasses with red wine. She joined him at the kitchen table and tilted her drink towards his with a clink of glass.
Denise watched him with a questioning smile.
‘What?’ Deans asked.
Her mouth twitched upwards at the corners. ‘How long have you and Maria been together?’
Deans blinked and gave himself five seconds before answering. ‘Eleven years.’
‘How did you meet?’
He looked at Denise, tilted his head and lowered his glass. ‘It was when I was a PC. I was at a friend’s barbeque and Maria was there with her boyfriend at that time.’
Denise dropped Deans a school teacher type glance over the top of her glass.
‘No, it wasn’t anything like that,’ Deans said. ‘I actually knew him, loosely speaking. We used to play for the same rugby club, but not in the same team.’
‘So what happened?’
‘We had a good night, we all got drunk and at some point during the evening Maria gave me her number.’
Denise’s brows were practically touching the ceiling. Deans chuckled and took a sip from his wine.
‘Was it love at first sight?’
Deans stared into the bottom of his glass and he allowed himself a half-smile. ‘I fell in love with her voice at first.’
Denise hinted for Deans to continue.
He rolled his head and sucked air in slowly through his partly-opened mouth. ‘Maria’s family moved to Bath from Ireland when she was a teenager. She had a voice that was like soft velvet to the ears.’
Denise grinned and Deans realised that he was smiling properly for the first time in weeks. He snorted and looked back down into his glass.
‘So you called Maria?’ Denise said.
Deans shook his head. ‘No. She had a boyfriend. I’m not into that sort of thing.’
‘Then how did you two come together?’
Deans looked away coyly and smiled again. ‘She wrote me a note and left it at the front office.’
‘What did the note say?’
Deans blinked and drifted off.
Another fifteen seconds went by, but Denise did not interrupt.
‘The note was simple – straight to the point,’ Deans said. He rubbed the side of his face and the smile returned. ‘That was something else about Maria, she knew how to be direct.’
‘Well, come on, what did it say?’
‘Oh… Um… something like; I’m now single. So are you. Let’s do something about it.’
‘And you did?’
Deans paused and took a gulp of merlot. ‘Yep, we did.’
‘And you never looked back.’
Deans’ eyes narrowed and he scratched the back of his neck. He shook his head.
‘And then you were married,’ Denise pressed. ‘Where did you go on honeymoon?’
‘Africa. We did a safari honeymoon. It was incredible.’ He made an hmm noise in his throat and held a reminiscing smile for a moment.
Denise watched him, didn’t interrupt.
‘We had a lot of amazing holidays at the beginning,’ he continued. ‘South East Asia, the Caribbean, Mexico…’
‘Then what happened?’
Deans puffed air out from his nostrils and stared into his glass again. He rolled the remaining contents around and around and then gulped it all down.
Denise pushed the opened bottle closer toward him and he picked it up, pouring a large quantity into his glass. He took another glug. ‘Then we decided to have children.’
Denise leaned back slowly in the chair. ‘How long were you trying?’ she asked softly.
He bunched his lips and wiped his mouth with his fingertips. ‘Five…’ he shrugged, ‘…maybe six years.’
‘Were you given a reason?’
He shook his head and looked away, down at the floor.
‘There’s no shame,’ Denise whispered.
‘I’m not ashamed,’ he quickly replied. ‘I’m just sorry.’
‘You mustn’t blame yourself—’
He heaved a deep breath and stared at Denise. ‘It was me coming home at three a.m. Me pulling eighteen hour shifts. None of that would have helped—’
‘But those are the realities of life, Andy. You have an incredibly stressful job. A job that demands so much from you, and Maria.’
Deans nodded. ‘Yeah, well – I’m now paying the ultimate price for the bloody job.’
‘Be proud of who
you are and what you do for so many different people, Andy. You will always be a police officer, it runs through your core, I can tell.’
Deans heaved a despondent breath and took another large mouthful of wine. ‘Yeah, maybe.’
They sat silently for a number of minutes and then Deans looked at Denise with a penetrating stare that he held for a long moment.
‘Is she dead?’ he asked.
The corners of Denise’s mouth twitched and she placed her glass quietly onto the table and nudged it away with the tip of a finger.
‘I don’t know,’ she said. Her eyes narrowed slightly and her nostrils flared.
‘It’s okay,’ Deans said. ‘Nothing can shock me – not anymore.’
He watched her jaw muscles tighten. She reached for her glass and took a long drink.
‘The guardians told me to protect you,’ she said.
‘From what?’
She looked up from her glass. ‘From yourself.’
‘Meaning?’
She sipped her wine again and looked at him over the top of the glass. ‘You are very special.’
Deans folded his arms.
Denise half-smiled. ‘Being a detective makes your gift exceptional.’ She broke eye contact and purposefully leaned in toward him. ‘And a personal loss in your life is going to take your ability to unfathomable levels.’
‘I don’t want the gift,’ Deans said in a dull, monotone voice. ‘I want my life back – my wife – my unborn child.’
‘Of course,’ Denise answered awkwardly. She blinked in quick-fire succession and fiddled with the slender stem of her glass.
Deans did not move. He watched her uncertainty with interest.
‘I’ve lost them – haven’t I?’ he said.
Denise wiped her lips with the back of a finger drawn slowly across her mouth. ‘Nothing is certain,’ she said.
‘Was it Babbage?’ Deans asked.
She stiffened. ‘The guardians will guide me how best to protect you,’ she said.
Deans squinted. ‘Why me – I don’t understand?’ Denise took another long and deliberate drink from her glass before answering.
‘It’s meant to be.’
Chapter 17
Deans had awoken by five-thirty. He had slept well, or at least, he had endured no night terrors. Denise had given him liquid mouth drops, said they would realign his energies and said he was going to need them for the conflict ahead. He had agreed to take them on one basis: that Denise return with him to Bath.
He had left Denise at the house. She said she had a full client list at the clinic, but in any event, Deans had plans of his own.
He was in luck; Detective Ranford from Torworthy CID was on duty and came into the foyer within moments of learning Deans was there. That was just as well; a feral young woman with pungent body odour had taken a shine to Deans. The room was only so big, and so far, she had followed him around two laps of the public reception area.
Detective Ranford had been Deans’ partner on the Operation Bejewel Action Team when they were investigating Amy Poole’s murder. He was Deans’ go to man for local knowledge and help.
‘Andy,’ Ranford said, giving Deans a man-hug. ‘What are you doing down here, mate?’ Ranford appeared slightly skittish but happy to see Deans.
‘Just visiting,’ Deans said.
Ranford squeezed Deans a little tighter. ‘It’s great to see you.’ He patted Deans on the back and took a step away, looking Deans in the eye. ‘I heard about your wife.’ His face dropped. ‘I’m so sorry. Sergeant Jackson told everyone.’ He tilted an inquisitive look. ‘Any progress?’
Deans lowered his head and replied softly, ‘No news, I’m afraid.’
‘I’m sorry,’ Ranford said again. ‘Just popping in to say hello?’
‘No. I was hoping we could chat?’
‘Of course,’ Ranford replied.
‘Unless you have other stuff—’
Ranford wafted the suggestion back. ‘Not at all, Andy. Not at all.’ He shrugged. ‘I’m on my own today – been a nightmare. Double-hander in the bin, but I’m on top of it. It will probably do me some good to step away for ten minutes. Fancy a coffee?’
‘Too bloody right,’ Deans replied. ‘I won’t keep you long, I promise.’
Ranford waved his hand again. ‘Honestly, Andy. It is no problem. It’s great to see you.’
They left the foyer and walked up the stairs to the CID office.
Deans peered at the duo of desks. The office was back to how it looked before the murder squad moved into town. Ranford’s partner, Detective Mansfield, was absent from his desk, as ever.
‘Where is Op Bejewel being run from now?’ Deans asked, still marvelling at Mansfield’s clean and tidy work surface.
‘Exeter HQ,’ Ranford said. ‘After Babbage was remanded they all upped and left as quickly as they had come. Only Sergeant Jackson pops in from time-to-time.’ Ranford shrugged and pushed the corners of his files together, as if he was levelling a pack of cards. ‘Don’t know why? He never seems to do that much.’
Deans stroked the contour of his jaw. ‘You guys didn’t get caught up with the investigation any further?’
‘Nah!’ Ranford said. ‘Manny and I were told we couldn’t be released from district duties.’
Ranford scratched the side of his nose. ‘I would have liked to have seen it out, to be honest. All that work…’
‘Where is Manny today?’ Deans asked looking again at Mansfield’s desk.
Ranford bobbed a shoulder. ‘He was here this morning – been investigating a series of robberies these past few days. Loads of enquiries, tons of stress…’ He flashed his eyelids and smiled.
Deans understood and smiled back.
‘So,’ Ranford said. ‘How can I help?’
Deans shuffled his feet and paused a moment before answering. ‘What happened with Babbage after Jackson released me from the investigation?’
Ranford frowned. ‘Let me just grab those drinks.’ He touched Deans’ arm and left the room.
Deans heaved a sigh and looked around the narrow two-desk office. His eyes set on a Post-It label; one of many, stuck on the edges of Mansfield’s computer screen. There was a handwritten telephone number; one that he immediately recognised.
Ranford came back into the room and handed Deans his coffee.
‘Yeah, anyway… so after you left Sarah Gold interviewed Babbage again with Sergeant Jackson…’ Ranford hesitated and took a sip of coffee. ‘Well, Babbage went mute. Wouldn’t answer a single bloody question.’ Ranford stared deeply into Deans’ eyes. ‘It was all about you. For Babbage, it was all about you!’
Deans heaved a breath and turned away. ‘Yeah, well – thanks to that twat Jackson, I guess we’ll never know what else Babbage might have said.’
‘In any event,’ Ranford continued, ‘the Crown Prosecution Service decided that there was enough evidence to charge and remand Babbage with murder while the nitty-gritty of the investigation continued.’
Deans thought for a moment and ran a hand through his hair.
‘But while Babbage was with you – here in police custody – nothing was asked about Maria’s disappearance, even though Babbage was goading me throughout the interview – practically admitting to ruining my life?’
‘It took a while for the information about Maria to filter through to us, Andy. We already had a charging decision for Amy Poole’s murder.’ He shrugged and shook his head. ‘The phone, the DNA – all compelling – and Jackson was keen to get a result.’
Deans shut his eyes. ‘When was Jackson last here?’ he asked.
‘Yesterday,’ Ranford said rolling his eyes. ‘He was here all day. I think he must stay somewhere locally.’
Deans squinted and watched Ranford fiddle with a pen on his desk.
‘Did he say when he would be back?’
‘Nope. We don’t get a warning. He just arrives.’
Deans chewed the inside of his cheek and looked at his watch. ‘O
kay. I’d quite like to see Jackson if he returns—’
‘Are you sure that’s a good idea?’ Ranford said quickly. ‘You two didn’t exactly hit it off first time around.’
Deans cast Ranford a stubborn glare. ‘I think he’s got some answers to give, don’t you?’
Chapter 18
The underside of Deans’ car scraped and clattered against the divots and potholes of the waterlogged track that lead to the pebble ridge slipway. He parked beside two camper vans on a small tufted island of dry terrain, like prime real estate. Anyone else would have to step out into an inch of spring-tide floodwater.
Deans forced the door against the buffeting breeze and planted his feet. He turned into the wind and sniffed in the air, holding the cleansing freshness in the back of his throat. He released his breath after twenty controlled seconds as if expelling all the crap of the past fortnight.
The pebble ridge looked different today – the hut – the lifeguard hut, was missing from the slipway. Must be a seasonal landmark.
He made his way slowly up the concrete sleepers, set into the large rounded boulders, until he reached the summit. The blast of chilled sea air was now unforgiving as it whipped-up the spray of frothing foam and spattered his skin. He wrapped himself tighter into his coat. Only the competent and foolhardy would challenge these angry waters at the height of winter.
The beige coloured sun was like an artist’s impression; veiled by wafer-thin layers of off-white satin clouds, and only inches above the horizon. He held the moment and for the shortest time, everything else was forgotten. Only the cutting bitterness of the strong westerly wind prevented this from being perfect.
Deans stood tall and pulled his shoulders back. He cast his gaze across the smooth, rounded faces of the boulders and stopped about fifty metres away where a mound of pebbles stood proud, six feet above the others. He dipped his head. That was the exact spot where several weeks before he had first met Amy Poole, but she was dead and her beautiful, youthful body had been mutilated.
Deans stepped carefully along the ridge until he was alongside the monument. Several of the stones had messages written on them in marker-pen. Others were painted in various different colours.
Dead By Design Page 8