STORM LOG-0505: A Gripping, Supernatural Crime Thriller (The First Detective Deans Novel) (29 page)

Deans stepped aside, allowing Riley to place his equipment onto the floor.

‘I’ve looked at all the rooms,’ Deans said. ‘On the face of it, the house is spotless…’ This was his moment. ‘But I’ve found a patch of oil, or grease on a wall surface up in the third bedroom.’

Riley dipped his head and stared at Deans as if looking over the top of imaginary spectacles. ‘Grease?’ he mirrored.

Deans nodded.

‘Just how much of a search have you been conducting?’

Deans sensed hostility. Time to be wise. ‘This room is different. Not like the others.’

Riley scowled. ‘Okay. You’d better tell me about this patch of oil.’

‘It’s on the right-hand wall. About shoulder height.’ Deans used his hand to indicate a visual measurement in line with Riley’s ear. Deans cleared his throat. ‘I also found a small gouge in the paintwork.’

Riley peered over his non-existent specs once more. ‘And you think that could be…?’

‘If Amy was here against her will, then perhaps it might be a site of disturbance.’

‘So you think this stain, or smear, call it what you will, might be some evidential trace of our victim? A facial impression, something like that?’

‘Why not?’

‘Why not indeed. Conversely, why?’

‘Amy had clearly been in some kind of struggle. The marks around her neck, the bruising to her head, the torn fingernail.’

‘Ah, so you believe the gouge in the paint is from the victim scratching the wall as she struggled to protect herself from her attacker and the stain will be some kind of body fluid or grease she left behind?’

‘Why not?’

‘And why do we even suspect our victim was here in the first place?’

‘Because I just called her phone and it rang from inside the garage.’

Riley lurched backwards. ‘You have the victim’s phone?’

‘No. I heard it ring. Second time around I couldn’t get a connection.’

Riley frowned. Deans spoke before Riley had a chance to discredit Deans any further. ‘The search team will find the phone. I absolutely guarantee it.’

‘Indeed,’ Riley said. He was clearly evaluating Deans. ‘Fine,’ he said after a long, deliberate pause. ‘You’d better show me to this stain.’

Riley had arrived in a white paper suit and handed another to Deans with a black look. ‘For what it’s worth now, I suppose you might as well put this on.’

Deans opened the door to the white room and Riley stepped inside.

‘How the blazes did you find anything in here?’ Riley asked.

‘Instinct.’ Deans wavered. ‘And luck I suppose.’ He smiled, unsure if Riley was buying into it.

‘It’s over there,’ Deans said with an outstretched arm, inviting Riley to look at the wall.

Riley went over, angled his head to catch the light for a minute or so, and turned to Deans with a baffled expression.

‘Instinct?’

Deans nodded.

‘I’ll get this wall swabbed first.’

Deans looked up to the ceiling.
Yes
, he mouthed.

‘Anything else you want to show me?’

‘I’d look around the gap in the skirting for traces of the broken nail.’

‘Hmmm,’ Riley groaned. ‘How about we start with you showing me the other rooms?’

Deans complied, but Riley did not comment much, other than to say how sparse the place was. The final room to show him was the garage.

‘The search team can start in here,’ Riley said, ‘while my team are upstairs. We’ll start with some photographs.’

Riley accompanied Deans to the doorstep, and ushered in three fully-clad forensic officers and briefed them on what he needed. It was late, but judging by the activity of the locals in the street, word of their presence had obviously spread – that, and the fact that half of the police fleet were now parked in front of Babbage’s home.

By 1:36 a.m., organised chaos had taken over. There were easily the same number of staff here as at the scene on the beach. All working diligently, all professional, all determined, and all because Denise had convinced Deans that he was experiencing supernatural contact.

Deans left the scene just after three a.m. The search and forensic examination was well underway and he was now nothing but an onlooker, and in desperate need of some kip. He was impressed with the uniformed team. They were a tight unit and reminded him of his old uniformed days back home; the camaraderie, banter, and friendships, as strong a group as you would find, but it was different for Deans now. He was still part of a team but that brotherhood was not the same – could never be the same. He had watched their interaction with a quiet envy. That was what he needed around him now – his mates.

As he drove through Torworthy, the heaters warmed the air inside the car. He had forgotten to book somewhere to stay and so it would have to be a reclined seat for what was left of the night, and he knew exactly where he wanted to park.

The alarm on his phone woke him at six-thirty from one of the most uncomfortable, cold and crazy night’s sleeps he had ever endured. His body was in turmoil; the physical element – completely fatigued, the mental element – entirely wired.

With gummy, bloodshot eyes, he looked at his face in the rear-view mirror. He was pale and unshaven, and his mouth tasted like a tramp’s armpit. He had felt better waking up after the office Christmas parties, and that took some doing. He wound the chair to an upright position and blinked moisture back to his eyes. His neck was solid, his back – aching, and his thirst for coffee unbearable.

He checked his phone; no contact since the last time he saw it. He dwelled on the screensaver, and touched the photo of Maria.

There was about an hour’s window to freshen up, and drink enough caffeine to feel human again, and not long after, he was at Denise’s house.

The smell of a warm coffee maker greeted him as soon as Denise opened the door. She commented on how bad he looked, and smelt. At least she was being honest.

After a rapid shave and wash, Deans was treated to a hot drink and buttery toast, which he devoured under Denise’s scrutiny.

‘How’s Maria?’ she asked.

Deans stopped chewing. ‘She’s moved out.’

‘And what do you think about that?’

If his eyes could talk they would be saying,
what a bloody stupid question
.

‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘Finish your breakfast. I just want you to know that I’m a good listener if you need me.’

He paused for a moment. ‘We’ve been having fertility treatment.’

She nodded slowly.

‘I missed the scan… because I was here.’

Denise stood up, walked to the sink and gazed distantly out through the window. ‘There is no greater gift than a new life,’ she said, and turned back to Deans. ‘And that takes both of you to create, but it also takes both of you to nurture.’

‘I know,’ Deans whispered ruefully.

‘I know you know. And that’s why as soon as all this is over, you must commit yourself to your wife before anything else.’

He nodded and returned to his breakfast. Neither of them spoke until he had finished, and Denise took his plate to the sink. He watched her and waited for his moment.

‘Why me, Denise?’ he said.

She looked up from the washing bowl. ‘Why any of us?’

‘Well, you were always going to be a medium.’

‘Was I?’

‘Your mum and stuff.’

Denise walked back over to Deans and sat opposite him. ‘I was just shown a pathway, and I happened to follow it.’

Deans shook his head.

‘All Amy is doing is showing you a different course to the one you’ve known. It’s up to you if you follow it.’

Deans grumbled beneath his breath, ‘I don’t know.’

‘I appreciate this is possibly against everything you believe or understand, but everything happens for a reason, Andy.’

‘What reason?’

‘Isn’t that the biggest question for us all? Only time can dictate that.’

Deans huffed. ‘Something happened… after you left. Something that couldn’t be… chance.’

Denise smiled broadly. ‘That would be Amy’s way of making you believe.’

Deans dropped his head into his hands.

‘Butterflies,’ Denise said.

‘Sorry?’

Denise had a glint in her eye. ‘I bet if you were asked to describe the flight of a butterfly, you’d say: unsteady, fragile, possibly even unpredictable.’

Deans shrugged and nodded.

‘A creature at the mercy of the elements,’ Denise continued. ‘And that may be so, but observe two butterflies, one directly behind the other, and watch how the second butterfly is able to adjust and follow the first butterfly with such precision that the flight can’t possibly be as chaotic or random as we believe. It’s a chosen direction.’

‘So,’ Deans said slapping his hands onto the tabletop, ‘suddenly I’ve got some supernatural ability, and I’m supposed to decide if I should pursue it?’

Denise shook her head. ‘For some reason, Amy has been the catalyst in the emergence of your abilities. But that’s all it is for now: an awakening. My journey began a very long time ago, and I am only in the dawn of the day.’ Denise smiled. ‘Think about Amy’s thesis, her topic; the gift complementing police investigations.’

Deans grimaced. ‘It’s not going to happen.’

‘You were quite right. It is not chance. None of it is chance. You being here now isn’t chance.’

‘What about Ash? He’s got the gift.’

Denise looked away, screwed up her face. ‘Remember everyone has the ability, good and bad.’

‘And he will know about me?’

‘Quite likely.’ Her large, dark eyes fixed on his. ‘But unlike most other mediums, you are also a police officer.’

‘I’m more of a threat,’ Deans said, realisation setting in.

Denise nodded sternly.

Deans’ vibrating phone shattered the moment. It was a withheld number. ‘Could be the office,’ he said.

‘Can’t they give you a moment’s respite?’

‘It seems not.’

‘Don’t answer. It’s seven thirty, for Christ’s sake.’

Deans shrugged. ‘No choice, I’m afraid. Psychic or not, I am still a cop.’

He reluctantly accepted the call and heard Jackson’s unmistakeable tones. ‘Get yourself in the office ASAP. Briefing at eight. The DCI needs an update.’ The phone line went quiet. Whoever said the art of conversation was dead?

He swigged his coffee as if it were a cold drink, lifted a triangle of toast from the plate and pecked Denise on the cheek.

‘Thank you for your kindness. I have to run, I’m afraid.’ He lingered on her face. ‘Thank you – for everything.’

She touched his hand. ‘Good luck.’

The office was a hive of activity. Officers he had not seen up until now were scurrying about busily. In the corner of the room, Gold was sitting at her desk. She noticed him, smiled and waved him over.

‘Bloody hell,’ Deans said, ‘When did everyone suddenly get an interest in this job?’

‘Tell me about it,’ Gold replied.

‘How did you go interviewing Babbage?’ he asked.

Gold shook her head. ‘What a weirdo. He gives me the willies.’

‘Why? What happened?’

‘It was a non-starter,’ she replied flatly. ‘We tried to obtain an initial account but he sat completely silent, just stared back at me with a sick smile. Total freak.’

‘You weren’t in there alone, I hope?’

‘No. But he seemed somewhat obsessed by me.’

‘Hmmm. Maybe we should look at that,’ Deans said.

‘It’s the sarge,’ she whispered. ‘He wants me as OIC. I can’t say I don’t want to do it now.’

Deans looked around the room to see if Jackson was eavesdropping on their conversation. He was not, and there was no sign of him in the office.

‘What’s the plan with Babbage today?’ Deans asked.

‘I gather there have been some results at the home address,’ Gold said. ‘They are going to be discussed at the briefing, along with an interview strategy.’

‘Fantastic,’ Deans said. ‘Is the CSM coming in, do you know?’

‘He’s already with the DI and the sarge having a private confab.’ Gold leaned in close to Deans. ‘Are you feeling okay, Andy?’

‘Why?’ he shrugged. ‘Shouldn’t I?’

Gold gave his forearm a gentle squeeze. ‘I’m sorry,’ she said. ‘It’s just; you look a bit run down – preoccupied.’ She kept her hand on his arm.

‘Yeah, well,’ he said looking down at her petite fingers, ‘life’s a bit crazy right now.’

She released her grasp and gave a caring smile. ‘What are you doing later?’

He shook his head. ‘I don’t even know what I’m doing in two hours’ time, let alone later.’

‘Well…’ She looked around. ‘Why not come over to mine? We can open up a bottle.’

‘Uh…’ Deans hesitated, ‘thanks. I’ll… keep it in mind.’

At two minutes to eight the DCI, DI, CSM and Jackson breezed back into the office and ordered everyone into the conference room. A lucky six people including the bosses, Jackson and Gold secured a seat. Everyone else, including Deans, had to make do with hugging the walls. Deans could have done with a chair. His aching bones were beginning to remind him of his uncomfortable night.

The DCI welcomed everyone and immediately acknowledged there had been progress at the house. She provided nothing more than a précis, but it was enough to leave Deans satisfied and under no illusions that Denise was genuine. The DCI stated that a mobile phone had been located in the garage along with a small purse, void of personal ownership. A search of the study had turned up a series of photographic albums and equipment that was in the process of examination. In addition, the CSM had done remarkable work in one of the bedrooms to locate a micro-scene of disturbance, and the possibility of the victim’s recovered fingernail.

Deans listened with interest as the DCI continued.

‘I really must praise Mike Riley and his team for finding the scene within the third bedroom. That was truly exceptional work.’

Deans looked at the back of Riley’s head. He was about to mark the measure of the man.

‘We probably would have missed it, ma’am,’ Riley said, ‘if it hadn’t been for Andy Deans, who somehow identified it before I’d arrived.’

All the faces in the room turned towards Deans, who looked down at his feet.