STORM LOG-0505: A Gripping, Supernatural Crime Thriller (The First Detective Deans Novel) (22 page)

‘Age?’

‘Young adult?’

‘Well that really narrows it down,’ Savage said sarcastically.

‘That’s all I have. I’ll call you again once I’ve done some digging.’

He did not tell Savage that Maria was at the hospital. She had already requested against work colleagues knowing anything about the treatment. They were under enough pressure as it was.

Ranford stopped working at his computer the moment he saw Deans enter the room. ‘You okay, mate?’ he asked.

‘Yeah, fine.’ Deans cut him off and slumped down in his chair.
Why would anyone want to get to me, or Maria?
he brooded, chewing the lid of his Bic pen, and then it struck him; someone he had met during the previous ten days was the killer, or closely connected. He bundled up his papers, and stuffed them swiftly into his go-bag and headed out of the door without saying another word.

He took a bunch of steps into the brisk breeze, and then stopped. Could the killer be watching him right then? He looked around. He certainly hoped so. That way they couldn’t also be watching Maria.

His car was parked on the quayside. 10:42 a.m. showed on the dash. It was time to make some forthright decisions: drive back home and wait, maybe for nothing to happen and certainly freak Maria out even more, or stick around, and trust in Savage and the station to keep Maria safe.

He sat playing it over in his mind – the people he had met, those who knew his name, the people that knew Maria’s name – she said it was a young man on the phone.
Why contact Maria? I’m not even the OIC
.

Within seconds, he was back on the phone to Savage.

‘It’s someone from our own patch, Mick. Why else would they be interested in contacting Maria? They think I’m still the main threat.’

‘It has to be Groves, Deano,’ Savage said bluntly.

‘No. It’s not.’

‘I disagree. We should keep close tabs on him.’

‘Mick, don’t waste time and energy on Groves. It’s someone else.’

‘Deano, you’re too close to the action. You’re not thinking straight.’

‘Argh,’ Deans groaned. ‘Do whatever, Mick, but either way, do me a big favour and keep it low key.’

‘Of course, Deano, I understand.’

Deans drove to the car park overlooking the bay where Amy had been found. He could see the attraction of living by the coast, especially here. It made him realise that there was no corner back home where he went for solace – there was always someone around, or something to be done.

He watched the surfers with envy and after a few minutes, sent Maria a text.
Hope everything went well. Let me know what they’ve said. Love you loads, speak soon xxx

He waited, clutching the phone, willing it to vibrate with her reply.

The phone rang.

‘Hello?’ He answered without looking at the screen.

‘Deans, this is Sergeant Jackson. I need to see you when you can break away from your current commitment.’

‘No problem,’ Deans said. ‘I can be back at the office in about thirty.’

‘Make it ten. This is important.’ Jackson did not sound as if he was ready to negotiate.

‘Fine,’ Deans replied. ‘Ten it is.’

Jackson had already ended the call. Deans suddenly felt buoyed by the urgency in Jackson’s voice. He must have some news. Progress at last.

Deans trotted up the stairwell to the CID office and saw Jackson standing in the middle of the room. Gold was at Ranford’s desk and Mansfield was opposite. They both looked at Deans, and then quickly turned away. Nobody acknowledged him, including Jackson whose expression was ferocious.

‘Follow me,’ he barked, walking towards the door.

Gold and Mansfield were now looking over at Deans. Mansfield gave him a wink and a loud
chlick
with the sidewall of his mouth.

Deans scowled, turned, followed Jackson and found him pointing into a room with an outstretched arm as if he was directing traffic. Deans had not been to this room before but adhered to Jackson’s silent instruction.

It was a small box room with a single table and two chairs, one opposite the other – similar in appearance to an interview room.

‘Sit down,’ Jackson demanded.

Deans deliberately took the chair facing the door to dominate the room and therefore exert a degree of control in whatever this was turning out to be. He did not need his astute body language skills to realise this was not a good situation.

‘What’s up, Sarge?’ Deans asked.

Jackson stepped into the room and slammed the door, backing into it with his bony arse. He stood facing Deans, arms folded; probably annoyed that Deans had taken the primary seat. Jackson was biting his bottom lip, his cold grey eyes narrowing. He was not a pleasant-looking man.

Deans had not been this close to him before and was getting a waft of bad breath. He suddenly felt pity for all the female officers Jackson latched onto.

‘You’re off the case with immediate effect,’ Jackson snarled.

‘What?’ Deans gasped.

‘You heard.’

‘Why?’

‘It has come to my attention that you’ve been carrying on with a witness.’

‘Carrying on?’ Deans repeated. ‘What the hell are you talking about?’

Jackson closed Deans out. ‘I’m not at liberty at this time to disclose the full details. This may yet take a disciplinary route. All you need to know is that you are no longer welcome here.’

‘This is bullshit,’ Deans shouted.

‘You should’ve thought of that before playing away from home, son.’

‘But I haven’t fucking-well played away. This is crazy. I want to see the DI.’ Deans demanded.

‘As far as you are concerned, I am the DI. I’m acting on his behalf.’

Deans slammed both hands loudly onto the table. ‘I can’t believe this bollocks. You lot need me on this case more than you realise. You lot haven’t got a clue who killed Amy.’

‘And I suppose you do?’ Jackson said, more as a statement than a question.

It was time to close up shop. Deans had no idea what was going on but it was clear he could trust no one.

‘I’ve already contacted your superiors and they’re expecting you back today. No doubt they’ll want to know what’s been going on, and I’ll personally complete an incident report.’

‘Very kind,’ Deans snapped, pushing his chair away from the table with a piercing screech, and walked out of the door before Jackson had a chance to say anything else.

Deans stormed back into the office and directly over to Mansfield, who was still at his desk.

‘I want a word, Mansfield,’ Deans said, baring his teeth.

‘I’m busy,’ Mansfield said without looking away from the computer screen.

Deans leant over and turned it off. ‘Now, fucker.’

Mansfield looked Deans up and down. ‘What about?’

‘Outside.’

‘How about a nice coffee then?’ Mansfield suggested calmly. ‘I could do with a posh coffee. You buying?’

‘Let’s go.’ Deans stomped out of the room and waited at the top of the stairs.

Mansfield followed shortly after, sporting a smug expression. ‘You know if you have anger issues there are people who can help you.’

‘Put a lid on it, Mansfield, I’m not in the mood.’

Outside, Mansfield approached Deans with jaunty steps. ‘Well, this is an unexpected pleasure.’

‘What do you know?’ Deans demanded, his eyes blazing.

‘About what?’

Deans stepped in, crowding Mansfield’s space. ‘Why did you wink at me as I left the room with Jackson?’

Mansfield shrugged. ‘Just being friendly.’

‘Give it a rest, Mansfield. I sussed you out the moment I arrived. You’re a sneaky, untrustworthy bastard.’

‘Ouch, Andrew. Be very careful what you say.’ Mansfield smirked and made a point of looking up at a CCTV camera positioned nearby.

‘Are you setting me up?’ Deans asked through gritted teeth.

‘Setting you up for what exactly, Andrew?’

‘You tell me.’

‘I honestly don’t know what you’re talking about.’

Although Deans was seething, he was still observing Mansfield closely, and he appeared to be telling the truth.

‘Tell me what you know about Jackson and the complaint against me.’

‘A complaint?’ He was lying now.

‘Enough of the bollocks, Mansfield. This is my fucking career someone’s trying to ruin.’

Mansfield broke into a salesman-like grin and shuffled his feet. ‘Before you got back to the office, Jackson was with his little shadow and I overheard them gossiping.’

‘Gossiping?’

‘About you. Jackson said you’d been watched, shacked-up with a witness.’

‘Watched? By who?’

‘I don’t know. I just overheard it. I wasn’t included in their little tête-à-tête.’

‘But Jackson was loud enough to make sure you heard.’

Mansfield nodded. ‘Yeah. Was like I wasn’t there.’

‘What do you know about Jackson?’ Deans asked.

‘What? Apart from fungal breath and an eye for the crumpet. Not much. He’s HQ. I try to stay way clear of that corporate crowd.’

‘Why would he have it in for me?’

Mansfield shrugged. ‘Perhaps you’re some kind of threat.’

Deans turned away.
A threat
.

‘What did you talk to the reporter about at the scene?’

‘Reporter?’

‘At the ridge, where the body was found.’

‘Oh, Nev, he’s okay, we’re mates. He’s a photographer, not a reporter. I didn’t tell him anything I shouldn’t. And I didn’t know anything anyway.’

‘Did you mention who I was?’

‘He did ask, obviously hadn’t seen you before and you didn’t exactly blend into the background.’

‘What did you say?’

‘Something like “city-slick come to show us hicks how to do it”, you know – something complimentary like that.’ Mansfield grinned.

‘Has Ranford given you any of my contact numbers?’

‘No, don’t think so. Why?’

‘It doesn’t matter.’ Deans looked away, sucked in a lungful of briny air. ‘Who else knows how to contact me?’

‘How should I know?’

‘Look, I’m being stitched up. God knows why, but someone wants me out.’

Mansfield shrugged again. ‘Makes no difference to me either way.’

Within minutes Deans was at Rayon Vert and the shop front was empty.

‘Denise, are you here?’ he called out impatiently.

She appeared from the rear corridor. ‘Yes, of course I’m here. What on earth’s wrong?’

‘I need to know who this is Denise. Right now. The bastard’s made it personal.’

‘Oh my God! What’s happened?’

‘Maria had a crank call this morning.’

Denise looked nonplussed. ‘I’m sorry, Andy, what’s the significance of that?’

‘Some bloke called my wife saying weird stuff about her eyes not seeing the truth.’

Denise shook her head.

Deans had no choice, if he wanted her help he would need to divulge details of the case. ‘Amy’s eyelids were glued together. It has to be the same man.’

Denise gasped and covered her mouth. ‘My God! Why would someone do that?’ The colour drained from her face in an instant and she broke into rapid-fire blinking.

‘What is it?’ Deans asked.

‘Tell me again about the phone call. What did the man say about the eyes?’

‘I don’t know it wasn’t word for word. Maria wasn’t exactly with it when she told me.’

Denise pressed her hands to her cheeks and turned away.

‘What is it?’ Deans asked impatiently.

She shook her head, still masking her face.

‘Denise?’ Deans said firmly.

He waited for what seemed like an age. She was visibly trembling.

She then asked softly, ‘Could it have been “The eyes show you what you want them to believe?’”

‘Possibly.’ Deans scowled. ‘Why?’

She shook her head again.

‘Tell me,’ Deans commanded.

She covered her face once more.

‘Denise. He knows where I live. He knows my wife’s name. He’s already contacted her—’

‘Okay, okay.’ Denise held her hands up to stop Deans talking, reached for a glass of water on the counter, and took a purposeful sip.

‘Did anyone see what car it was? The lift, I mean?’ she asked.

‘VW Golf. Dark. Tow bar.’

‘Do you still have Amy’s diary on you?’ she asked, holding out a hand.

Deans sifted through his bag, keeping an eye on Denise. He knew what was coming. He handed the diary over and watched closely as she flicked through the pages as if looking for a specific date. She slowed and stopped with the pages open.

‘Excuse me a moment,’ she said glumly and began skimming through her own desk diary before again stopping on an open page. She viewed Amy’s diary a second time and then back to her own.

Deans noticed wrinkles on her face for the first time.

Denise gestured for Deans to go through to the back room as she flipped the shop sign closed.

She joined him in the treatment room and sat down. Deans remained standing. She held Amy’s diary delicately in her palms, and for a moment, did not move.

‘Amy has several dates in her diary that don’t match mine,’ she eventually said. ‘Sundays are my one day off.’

Half a minute of silence slipped by.

‘Where is he?’ Deans said sternly.

‘I don’t know,’ she said quietly, and looked up at Deans through misted eyes. ‘He was here this morning but then left. He was agitated. Angry.’ She paused, shook her head. ‘How could I miss it?’

Deans observed her anguish in silence.

‘Ash must have met up with Amy on those Sundays.’ Denise’s voice wavered. ‘He… he has a saying.’ She coughed behind her hand, and hesitated.

‘Go on,’ Deans demanded.

‘…Your eyes show you what you want them to believe.’

‘Meaning?’

‘Meaning all is not as it might appear.’ She rubbed a hand across her face.

‘And?’

Denise sighed, hesitated. ‘…And …he drives a dark blue Golf.’

Deans scrunched his fists; finally, he had something to work with. It was minimal but for the first time in over a week, he had reason for optimism.

‘Where does he live?’ he asked eagerly.

‘I’ve never been there in all the fifteen years that I’ve known him.’

‘You’ve known him fifteen years and never been to his house?’