STORM LOG-0505: A Gripping, Supernatural Crime Thriller (The First Detective Deans Novel) (4 page)

‘Around nine. We usually get there around that time.’

‘Does Amy drive a car?’

‘Yes.’ Jessica half-smiled. ‘A really cute VW Beetle.’

Deans was taking notes in his daybook. ‘What colour?’

‘Yellow. Bright yellow, with large white flower stickers.’

‘Do you happen to know the registration number?’

‘No. Sorry.’ She hesitated. ‘But I know it starts WK because we nickname it “wicked bug”.’ She tittered and looked away.

‘Thank you, Jess. Go on, what did you and Amy talk about on the way to uni on Friday?’

‘The usual kind of stuff really. She was heading down to see her parents for the weekend again.’

‘Her family in Devon?’ Deans asked, noticing Mitchell straining his neck to view a framed photo on the wall of three tanned and bikini-clad girls. ‘Why did you feel the need to report her missing if you knew she was at her parents’ house?’

‘She was due back by Sunday evening. We both had job interviews in town. And she was supposed to be driving us to uni this week.’

Deans shook his head. ‘Ever done this before?’

‘No. Never.’ Her face was anxious. ‘It’s so unlike Amy. She’s the most reliable person I know.’

There was a moment of silence.

Jess looked down at her feet. ‘Do you know where Amy is?’ She suddenly appeared vulnerable and fragile.

There were a couple of ways Deans could answer the question: give the corporate spiel or be blunt.

‘I’m going to be honest, Jess. I have no idea. That is why we are here. I’m leading the investigation and I need to piece together as much information as I can. You may know more than you realise, but that’s down to me to work out.’

Jess gently bobbed her head, still staring at her bare feet.

‘Have you spoken to anyone else about this since last week?’

‘Sarah and Billie and Carl,’ she replied.

‘Carl, Amy’s boyfriend?’

Jess nodded.

‘Who are Sarah and Billie?’ Mitchell asked.

‘They live with us here. We all go to uni together.’

‘Where are they now?’ Mitchell continued.

‘Sarah doesn’t stay here much. She has the smallest room so stays with her boyfriend most of the time and Billie broke her leg last week and has gone back home with her parents. I don’t know when she’s coming back.’

‘You didn’t contact Amy’s parents?’ Deans asked, but he already knew the answer.

‘No,’ she hesitated. ‘I don’t have their number.’ She caught Deans’ eye briefly, then looked away again.

‘Who’s in this photo?’ Mitchell asked, using the excuse to peer closer at the bikinied trio.

‘Me, Billie and Ames,’ Jess replied without looking at the photograph.

Deans turned to face the picture. He recognised Jess standing in the middle of the other two girls, although her hair was darker in the picture. There was another dark-haired female – Billie presumably, because Amy was reported to be blonde, and the only blonde-haired person in this photo was much taller and completely reigned over the others. However, it was not just her stature. Even from this picture, Deans could tell she was… exceptional.

‘We may need to take this,’ Mitchell suggested.

‘We may not have to,’ Deans countered and forced himself to break away from the photograph. He looked over at Mitchell and flashed him a look. ‘If there’s another recent photo of Amy, as she looks now, that’ll be just fine.’

‘Sure. I’ve loads of photos upstairs from a couple of weeks ago.’

As Jess left the kitchen, Deans shook his head at Mitchell.

‘I mean, come on, Deano?’ Mitchell grinned.

There was no denying it. Amy was an extraordinary looking girl, but Deans figured that made the disappearance a whole lot more significant.

Jess returned from upstairs and handed Deans a five-by-seven close-up of Amy’s face. She had a wide smile of beautiful white teeth and the most incredible blue eyes that sucked him deeper into the picture.

‘Tell me about Carl,’ Deans said, still studying the photo.

‘He’s nice, I suppose. Pretty fit if you know what I mean. Not my type, but definitely Ames’. She seems to attract the sporty ones.’

‘How long have they been together?’

‘A year, I guess, kind of properly.’

‘Did you see him after last Friday at the car park?’

‘No. But I called him on Monday when Ames didn’t come home.’

‘What did he say?’

‘Um, he hadn’t seen her all weekend, and didn’t know where she was either.’

‘Did you think there was anything strange about that?’

‘Not really.’ She paused. ‘Well, a bit, I guess.’

‘How so?’

‘Because Carl’s always with Ames. It’s like he’s her shadow or something.’

‘Do you speak to Carl much?’ Deans asked.

She shrugged nonchalantly. ‘Sometimes. We’re kind of mates because of Ames. We’re friends on Facebook.’

‘Is he hard to get hold of, on the phone?’ Deans asked.

‘No, I don’t think so.’

Deans nodded and jotted a note in his daybook, and then asked if he could look around the house and at Amy’s room in particular. Jess was happy to accommodate and offered them a cup of tea. Mitchell accepted. Deans asked for coffee.

Amy’s room was typical of a young female student. Deans scanned the room taking in the detail: a double bed below the window with newish-looking unmade sheets, a wooden bedside table, a recessed area on the far wall stacked with trendy clothes hanging from a metal rod, and a desk with a laptop plugged into the wall socket. A large poster of a girl surfing a ridiculous-sized wave dominated the wall to his left. Beneath the poster, piles of clothing, magazines, textbooks and shoes covered the floor space. From his cursory scan, there were no obvious messages or suicide notes, and nothing out of the ordinary to indicate that this was anything other than a normal student’s bedroom.

Deans opted to take the laptop and a diary that was on the desktop. It was better to secure potential evidence now rather than have to come back at some point in the future. If she returned, she could simply have them back.

On the bedside cabinet, he noticed a phone charger without the phone.

‘Does Amy have an iPhone?’

‘Yes.’

‘Any other phones?’

‘No, I don’t think so.’

Not a good sign.

‘Would you happen to know if Amy is into anything, drug-wise?’

‘No. She hardly even drinks.’

‘Does she have any debts; does she owe money to anyone?’

Jess shook her head. ‘No, I don’t think so. Amy always has money.’

Deans was satisfied that he could do no more at this time, but had developed a throbbing pain in his head. He left Jess with a business card and thanked her for her help. Mitchell winked and left her with a ‘See you later.’

Back at the station, Deans booked his exhibits onto the detained property registry, and there was still no contact from Carl Groves. Deans’ suspicion was becoming increasingly piqued the longer time went by.

Deans’ sergeant, DS Michael Savage beckoned him into the empty DI’s office, pointed to a chair pushed up against the wall, and took the inspector’s chair for himself.

‘Fill me in, Deano,’ he said.

‘Still early days, Mick. We just got back from speaking with Jessica Morrison. She doesn’t have much to offer, she’s pretty spaced out by this whole thing. I really need to speak to Carl Groves, but he’s proving elusive.’

‘Why do you suppose that is?’

‘That’s what I’d like to know. I tested Jessica. She said he wasn’t hard to get hold of.’

‘What are you thinking, Deano?’

‘I’m not happy, Mick, to be honest. I’m playing catch-up and having to find out things that should already be known. Did you know the MISPER is epileptic?’

‘No. Christ that could change things.’

‘Tell me about it. I had to find out from her old man while he was giving me earache.’

‘I’m sorry, Deano. Boylie gave me an update before he went off-duty. Thanks for taking this on. I know you have plenty of other real crime to be getting on with, just make sure you don’t sacrifice your existing workload for this crock of shite. Do enough to keep the bosses at bay, and then sack it off back to Devon and Cornwall. Let it become their headache. Anyway, I’m sure at some point she’ll materialise.’

‘Honestly, Mick? I just can’t see this being that straightforward. The more I hear, the more concerned I’m getting. She’s already been missing four days.’

Savage sank into his seat. ‘Well, what do we know, Deano?’

‘Not much.’ Deans shrugged. ‘Mum and Dad left her on Saturday, and it appears no one’s seen her since.’

‘What about her addresses?’

‘I’ve requested an urgent send-to in Devon, but haven’t heard back yet. Her bedroom in Bath is typical of her profile. I checked it out for signs of an extended absence but there was nothing. If anything, it is more indicative of unusual behaviour. I seized a laptop and a diary from her room, but only to cover all bases.’

‘Good,’ Savage replied. ‘The laptop will just have to sit in DPR for now. There is no way we will get authority to examine that. This is only a MISPER enquiry after all.’

Deans had been here many times before. He knew the score.

‘Update the log with everything you’ve done, Deano, and consider contacting her GP if you think we need to know more about her epilepsy.’

‘Her old man played it down mostly. I got the impression her condition is generally well controlled, but she’s on daily meds, if she has them with her.’

‘Document everything he said to you. Make sure you cover your arse.’

Deans nodded.

‘If you need help with anything else, grab Mitch or Harps. Have you got a photo of the MISPER?’

Deans rooted around in his file and handed Savage the photograph Jessica had given him earlier.

‘My God!’ Savage said.

‘Yep.’

‘Wow.’

That reaction said it all. So far, every bloke that had seen her picture had responded similarly. It made Deans think about one of his favourite films,
There’s Something About Mary
. Perhaps, he wondered, there was something about Amy.

They decided to use the photograph for a local press release, to be mirrored in North Devon. They agreed that if she had been sighted, she would be remembered. A low-key message would suffice for now –
Amy Poole, 20-year-old student. Missing since Saturday the 4th of October. Any information regarding her whereabouts to Falcon Road CID on 101 or anonymously via Crimestoppers
.

Deans returned to his desk and cleared away an open space. He slugged a large mouthful of cold coffee and placed a blank sheet of white A3 paper on the desktop. He drew a straight black horizontal line across the entire width of the page and stared at the middle, and wondered how far along they were, and then considered whether he would need more sheets before the end of the investigation. It was the makings of an investigative timeline.

He drew a red box above the horizontal line, roughly a third of the way in from the left. Inside the box, he wrote,
University car park with Carl GROVES
. He drew a connecting line to the horizontal and beneath wrote,
Friday 3
^rd
October – 15:30hrs
. He drew a green box below the horizontal, towards the left-hand side of the page, penned
University I/C Jessica MORRISON. Friday 3
^rd
October – 09:45hrs
. The next box was red, three-quarters of the way along and dated
Tuesday 7
^th
October
, and simply titled,
Reported missing
.

He stared down at the timeline and the mass of white empty space burned into his eyes like snow blindness. At the top of the page in bold red letters, he wrote
EPILEPTIC
.

It was usually a social meeting place for Carl Groves but this time he spoke to no one at the gym. He had already finished lectures and had spent the last couple of hours pushing his body to the limits. He had a lot on his mind, and no one he could tell. His parents, with whom he still lived, had commented on his mood change over the weekend. They had not pushed him about it, but he guessed they knew he had relationship issues.

Carl had already listened to the four voicemail messages from the copper. He understood why he wanted to speak to him. What troubled him was how much the copper knew. He had not replied to the calls because he was buying himself some time to think, to get his story right. The gym session had helped to a degree but only by burning up some of the nervous energy he had been suffering since the calls. He knew he would have to speak to the police at some point. It was obvious they wouldn’t just go away.

His hand was trembling as he clutched the copper’s name and number on a small scrap of paper. He had already taken himself outside for some fresh air. Few people walked to this area, so he would be undisturbed. His stomach muscles twitched as he dialled the number and he took a quick peek over his shoulder.

Deans’ job mobile phone vibrated on his desk.

‘DC Andy Deans speaking.’

There was silence.

‘Hello?’ Deans said firmly. He huffed and was about to terminate the call but then heard a tentative voice.

‘Um, hello. This is Carl Groves. I’ve got a message to call this number.’

‘Mr Groves,’ Deans said faking gratitude, ‘so good of you to call back.’ He fumbled around his desk for a pen and his daybook. ‘You’re an elusive man.’

There was no reply.

‘I’d like to see you today,’ Deans said.

‘Uh, I can’t today, I’m afraid,’ Groves replied.

‘Tell me why,’ Deans said quickly, giving Groves no opportunity to hide in his answer.

‘I’ve got to go out later.’

Deans snorted, probably loud enough for Groves to hear. ‘Let’s put it this way, Carl. I am either seeing you today, or I’m coming over to your house in the middle of the night, waking up whoever else may be there, and we can all have a conversation about things then. Alternatively, I could come to your university and get you out of a lecture. But of course I’d have to explain the reason why. So, what is it to be? Your choice.’

There was a period of silence. ‘Carl?’

‘Okay,’ he replied sheepishly.