Dead By Design

by James D Mortain

  He released his shroud of fingers and sat upright again.

  ‘You were OIC on the Amy Poole investigation for a specific reason,’ he said. ‘That reason being that you were inexperienced… fallible.’

  He grabbed her hand again.

  ‘…But mostly because you were expendable.’

  He saw her swallow. She was crying.

  ‘Sarah, you are a brilliant detective. Don’t let this put you off. As soon as I’m back on my feet, we’ll take them on – you and me.’

  He squeezed her hand. ‘I know it wasn’t you.’

  Savage burst back into the room.

  ‘That’s enough, you too,’ he said excitedly. ‘You ought to take a look outside. We’ve got SKY News, BBC, ITN… everyone wants a piece of you, my friend.’

  Deans and Sarah stared at Savage in silence.

  Deans squeezed her hand again and softly asked, ‘Can you give me a moment with my skipper, please Sarah?’

  She did not reply, but clutched his hand a little tighter.

  ‘It’s alright, Sarah,’ Deans said and twitched his lips.

  Sarah let go of his hand and silently walked out of the room.

  Savage bounded over to Deans. ‘She’s bloody gorgeous, mate,’ he said like a hormonal adolescent. ‘You kept that quiet, you tiger.’

  Deans stared at Savage with a poker face. He did not even blink.

  ‘Sorry, Andy,’ Savage said quickly. ‘I was just trying to make you smile.’

  Deans watched Savage bounce uncomfortably from one foot to the other.

  ‘Maria?’ Deans asked. ‘Mick, what about Maria?’

  Savage looked away towards the window.

  ‘Maria?’ Deans said again, but this time louder.

  Savage licked his lips, looked at the floor for a brief moment, moved slowly to the side of the bed and leaned his body against the metal railings, causing them to strain and angle inwards.

  ‘Well, you don’t need to worry about The Willows any longer,’ he said, ‘The Major Crime Cold Case team have taken it on as a historic murder enquiry. They will deal with the lot; the skeleton; the old man… even Samantha.’

  Deans watched him, his eyes burning wide.

  Savage slowly raised his head, looked at Deans square on, and then quickly looked away again.

  ‘Mick?’ Deans whispered. ‘Maria?’

  Savage closed his eyes and slowly shook his head.

  Chapter 40

  DI Thornton arrived within the hour.

  He handed Deans a small exhibits bag; the kind used during any investigation to keep items of evidential value protected and secure.

  Deans stared through the clear plastic bag at the object contained within. He lifted it up in front of his eyes and stroked the item between his fingers. Tears began to well, and he lowered the bag into his lap still holding it tightly. Maria habitually wore the exact same elephant pendant and Deans had no doubts this one belonged to his wife.

  Nobody spoke until Thornton decided Deans was ready to listen.

  ‘It was recovered from a pawn shop in Barnstaple,’ Thornton said. His chest heaved as he sucked in a lungful of air. ‘Apparently a woman cashed it in over a week ago now. She has been spoken to, but according to our colleagues at Devon & Cornwall the transaction was made in good faith and they haven’t pursued it any further.’

  Barnstaple was only ten short miles away from where Amy Poole’s body was discovered on Sandymere Bay, and therefore not much further from where Ash Babbage lived.

  Thornton said the store owner was still helping with inquiries, and one of the DCs from the Operation Engage team had dug a little deeper and uncovered all sorts of undesirable activity that he was going to put on a plate to Trading Standards.

  ‘Do you recognise it?’ Thornton asked. ‘Is it the item of jewellery you described on the MISPER report?’

  Deans blinked and turned to Savage who looked away.

  Thornton coughed behind closed lips.

  ‘There is more I’m afraid, Andy,’ he said.

  Deans looked at him; his jaw, slack and heavy.

  The DI began to speak, ‘I’m afraid,’ he said, but then stopped himself and licked moisture to his lips. He peered at Deans for an inordinate amount of time.

  ‘I’m afraid…’ he said again. ‘A body has been discovered.’

  Deans did not move.

  ‘It’s a female.’

  The DI cleared his throat again. ‘Unfortunately, we haven’t been able to… identify the body.’

  Deans frowned. ‘Why?’ he whimpered and noticed Savage turn to Thornton and take a half step backwards.

  Thornton scratched the back of his head and the corner of his mouth twitched.

  ‘Every… standard option of ID has been… impossible to carry out.’

  ‘Impossible?’

  Thornton fixed his stare at Deans.

  ‘The only option we have is DNA comparison, and that is still ongoing.’

  The ruts in Deans’ forehead were now as deep as corrugated iron. He looked to Savage, but he refused to make eye contact with Deans.

  ‘Dental?’ Deans whispered.

  The DI shook his head.

  ‘But Maria had…’

  This time, the DI was more purposeful in the shake of his head.

  Time stopped still. All the voices blended into white noise.

  Deans looked at Thornton and Savage in turn. Their mouths were moving, but Deans could hear no words.

  ‘How long?’ Deans uttered. ‘How long for the DNA results?’

  ‘Soon,’ Thornton said. ‘Very soon.’

  Deans snatched a pillow and covered his face, pulling the foam tighter and tighter across his mouth and nose. Maria’s face filled his mind. He did not need the DNA result to tell him what, deep inside, his heart already knew to be the truth. And for a moment, a brief, fleeting moment, he considered how long he would have to keep the pillow over his face before he could join her.

  Deans heard Savage’s muted voice. ‘We’re going to leave you alone for a bit, Deano. Unless you would prefer that we stay?’

  Deans rocked his head beneath the pillow.

  ‘You know you can call either of us at any time,’ Thornton said. ‘Take care of yourself.’

  A nurse came into the room and removed the pillow from Deans’ face.

  ‘What are you doing with that, Mr Deans?’ she said. ‘Come on, there is no need to be upset, you’ll be back on your feet before you know it.’

  She took the pillow away from his face and he watched, numb, as she left the room.

  Right at that moment, Deans felt completely alone in the world.

  Maria and their unborn child were dead, and no DNA result was going to tell him otherwise.

  Chapter 41

  He used the phone connected to the long adjustable arm suspended over his bed to call Denise.

  ‘You need to get me out of here,’ Deans told her.

  ‘Andy, you are there for a reason,’ Denise replied. ‘I’m not going to help you hurt yourself.’

  ‘I’ll be fine. I feel fine. But I can’t do this without your help.’

  ‘Andy—’

  ‘Denise, let me stay at your place. You can look after me. I have to do this.’

  ‘It’s not that simple. You were in a coma. You need proper care.’

  ‘I need to find where Maria went. And I know where to start.’

  Denise fell silent.

  ‘Denise, I simply cannot do this without you and I don’t trust anyone else enough to ask.’

  He heard her groan in the earpiece and he smiled. ‘Denise?’ he prompted.

  ‘Okay, okay. But the moment you need specialist help I’m taking you back to hospital.’

  ‘Deal,’ Deans said. ‘Now, get yourself up here and get me the hell out of this place.’

  The hospital staff put up a half-hearted attempt to keep Deans with them. There was most likely a fine line between duty of care and needing the bed space.

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nbsp; He looked up at the heavy grey sky and sucked in the cool city air as the thrum of passing pedestrians hurried about their business – cramming in their Christmas shopping. He stood, supported by his walking sticks, but even then, the desperate and damn right ignorant still bustled and barged him as he stood planted to the spot – Maria’s spot.

  He watched them flow around him like a stream meandering relentlessly towards its goal, the train station. He squinted. The train station. He knew Maria had not taken a train – that line of enquiry had been exhausted, or so he had been told.

  He looked up to the CCTV cameras – the ones from which he had watched Maria. He imagined them staring down upon him right then. How would he vanish from view?

  He locked his arms inside the crutches and clomped his way slowly forwards. Maria was going this way.

  He looked around him.

  A narrow side street only led back towards the road that ran in front of the police station. He took the diversion, causing shoppers in his path to stop suddenly, back up, and alter direction. He may not have seen where Maria went, but that was the exact same result on the CCTV footage.

  It took him about a minute to reach the other side of the alleyway, but for others not hindered by a busted leg, it would more likely take a matter of seconds – twenty maximum, he estimated.

  He looked both ways along the road. Buses, minicabs and the emergency services were the only vehicles allowed to use this route during the day. Maria vanished shortly after two p.m.

  A covert unit from the station’s burglary squad tooted him as they passed by in an unmarked car. Deans raised a stick to acknowledge them and watched as they drove on, out of sight. The corner of his eye twitched, and he quickly scanned the nearby buildings. He was standing in a camera blind spot.

  He snatched for his mobile phone and called DI Thornton. The phone rang and rang.

  ‘Come on,’ Deans shouted into the phone.

  ‘DI Thornton,’ the response eventually came.

  ‘It’s Andy Deans,’ he said hurriedly. ‘Did you say you checked ANPR in Bath?’

  ‘What was the point in trying Automatic Number Plate Recognition?’ Thornton replied dismissively. ‘Ash Babbage was already in custody and his vehicle was being dissected by CSI—’

  ‘We have a time that Maria was last seen,’ Deans interrupted.

  Thornton huffed and groaned. ‘But we don’t have a subject vehicle to cross reference,’ he said.

  Deans looked over towards the front of his station and saw the response vehicles parked and ready to roll.

  ‘We do,’ he said and terminated the call.

  He made good time back to the police station and took a lift up to the Intelligence Department. Sergeant Adrian Otto was at his desk.

  ‘Adge, can I talk to you privately, please?’ an out of breath Deans asked.

  Sergeant Otto gave Deans a long and considered look.

  ‘Shouldn’t you be in hospital?’ he asked.

  ‘Yeah, yeah. I need your help, but it’s sensitive,’ Deans said hastily.

  Otto laughed. ‘Look around you, Deano. Everything in this domain is sensitive. What’s on your mind, buddy?’

  ‘Maria was abducted.’

  Otto nodded.

  Deans checked over his shoulder and leaned over Otto’s desk, so that he was only inches from his face.

  ‘In a police car,’ Deans said.

  Otto did not move. Did not even blink, just carried on staring at Deans.

  ‘I’ve traced her steps,’ Deans said. ‘It’s the only plausible explanation.’

  Otto turned in his chair, swung his knees out from under the desk, stood up, moved slowly to the door and closed it.

  ‘Go on,’ he said, returning to his seat.

  ‘Maria wasn’t snatched,’ Deans said. ‘She went willingly.’

  Otto leaned back in his seat and considered Deans momentarily.

  ‘What do you want from me, Deano?’ he asked.

  ‘ANPR authorisation at the bus gates, on the day Maria vanished. Three hours either side should do it.’ The bus gates were a camera operated system that recorded the registration numbers of all passing vehicles. The owners of any unauthorised vehicles received a nasty surprise in the post within a couple of weeks with demands for payment of fines.

  Otto scratched his beard with a crackle of ginger bristles.

  ‘Big ask, Deano. I mean, how many times do you suppose our police vehicles pass through those cameras each day?’

  Deans shook his head. ‘Not ours.’

  Otto frowned and twirled a Bic biro between his teeth.

  ‘I really want to help you, Andy—’

  ‘But?’

  Otto did not answer and sucked on the end of the pen as if it was a cigarette. He had been a heavy smoker until the station management forced him to indulge his addiction in an uncovered part of the rear car park.

  ‘Would the system easily differentiate between police and other civilian vehicles?’ Deans asked.

  He noticed Otto looking at a small framed photograph on the side of his desk.

  ‘It would,’ Otto said quietly.

  ‘And between constabularies?’ Deans asked.

  Otto smiled. ‘So long as they were registered to the police force. We would probably even know which station used them.’

  Deans’ eyes widened. ‘And camera images?’ he asked.

  ‘Some have cameras.’

  Deans gazed out into the council car park below them.

  ‘What do the Major Crime Team make of this suggested line of enquiry?’ Otto asked after a moment’s silence.

  Deans did not answer, just gave Otto a knowing look.

  Deans saw the smallest of smiles begin to curl in the corner of Otto’s lips.

  ‘I’d be glad to help you, Deano,’ Otto said. ‘Twenty-four hours – you’ll have your answer in twenty-four hours.’

  Deans reached over the table and shook Otto by the hand.

  ‘Call me on my mobile with the result,’ Deans said, because he knew twenty-four hours from then, he would not be in Bath – by that time he would be hunting down Maria’s killers…in Devon.

  Chapter 42

  Denise drove Deans to Devon. The North Devon link road seemed quicker this time. Deans had a quiet resolve he had not experienced to this point. This was his time to make a symbolic gesture of intent; a planting of the flag, a sword in the air, and it felt good. He had told Denise about the MCIT update, but did not mention that he was going to take matters in his own hands and find Maria’s killers.

  They were in Torworthy – back at the place where it all began two months earlier. Deans was in the treatment room of Rayon Vert, Denise’s therapy studio. He was determined, if a little fuzzy from his head injury.

  ‘I want you to help me,’ he said to Denise. ‘I’m ready for you to do whatever it is you do.’

  Denise grinned, walked over to Deans and gently embraced him.

  ‘Good,’ she said. ‘You won’t regret this. Would you like to start now?’

  Without another word, Deans kicked his shoe off and heaved his body and leg cast onto the treatment couch. Denise pulled a towel up over his body and chest and told him to relax for a few minutes while she left the room.

  Deans stared up at the ceiling, lost in his thoughts. His stomach gargled loudly, and he became aware that Denise was now standing behind him.

  ‘You are very unbalanced,’ she announced.

  No shit.

  ‘I can change that for you,’ she said and her hands were moving in his peripheral vision.

  ‘Close your eyes,’ she said. ‘Think of something sad.’

  That’s easy.

  ‘Good. Now something happy.’

  Deans frowned.

  ‘Wow!’ she said.

  She came alongside him so that he could see her face. ‘I’m not sure how far to take this during the first session,’ she said. ‘Your chakras are so muddled.’

  ‘Okay,’ Deans said.


  ‘But my God! You have amazing energy.’

  Deans sniffed. It certainly did not feel that way to him.

  Denise smiled. ‘If you allow me, I can train you.’

  ‘For what?’

  Her face beamed brightly. ‘Spiritual enlightenment.’

  He blinked and turned his head away slightly. All he was interested in were answers… about Maria.

  ‘I’ll just give you a tune up today, make you feel more balanced. But seriously, consider what I say. You could become… extraordinary.’

  ‘I’ll chew it over.’

  ‘Okay,’ Denise said. ‘Now this is important. Ask yourself what you need?’ she said walking to the curtains and pulling them closed. ‘What you really need.’

  Deans followed the swirled pattern in the Artex ceiling and deliberated on the question. What did he really need? He needed Maria, and he needed his old life back – the long and late shifts, the uncertainty of conception, a wife in need of his support, a life lacking time and energy – his life – not the life of a pseudo-psychic detective, bouncing from one disaster to the next.

  Denise was walking around his prone body and every now and then making eye contact with a smile, her hands waving in small flat circles.

  ‘You said Amy had connected to you,’ Deans said.

  Denise continued around him slowly wafting her hands six inches above his torso.

  ‘I need her back,’ Deans said. ‘I need to speak to Amy Poole.’

  ‘You need repairing,’ Denise said, not responding to his requests. ‘Your energy channels are haywire. You are like a tight ball of rubber bands. You need to loosen up.’ She walked behind his head and placed her hands gently onto his shoulders.

  He could feel a light tingling pressure through the material of his shirt.

  She breathed through her nose with long, slow, deliberate uniformity. Her fingertips pressed into his muscles with increasing firmness. She placed her hands above the centre of his chest.

  He caught her eye, and she smiled a bless you. He could feel penetrating bodily warmth, even though her hands were inches away from touching him.

  ‘Don’t fight it,’ she said softly. ‘Let the energy flow.’