Authors: James D Mortain
‘Dear Amy,’ Denise said, staring thoughtfully into her glass. ‘She was studying law and was interested in the ways in which psychic ability could complement criminal investigations.’ She tutted. ‘Isn’t that some irony?’
Deans nodded.
‘Because she was brought up in these parts she probably felt more comfortable speaking with me rather than someone else closer to her university. Maybe she felt she had to distance herself from her peers to avoid potential ridicule.’
‘It’s sad that she would have to do that,’ Deans said.
‘Be honest, Andy. Before you got to know me a little better, you must admit your own opinion would have been prejudiced.’
‘Fair comment.’
‘There you go, and how many of your colleagues have you told about your enquiries with me?’
‘None.’
‘And why would that be?’
Deans sighed. ‘Because they’d probably think I’d lost the plot.’
‘So why do you keep coming back, Andy?’
He smiled dryly. She was good. ‘Because maybe Amy was right… let’s just leave it there.’
‘Well, that’s good enough for me. Come on, let’s eat.’
Deans enjoyed the meal and Denise’s company, and they chatted about each other’s former years, and how Deans became a police officer. Denise opened a second bottle of wine, and as she topped up his glass she said, ‘I can help you.’
‘Help me, or help my investigation?’
‘Both.’
‘Do I need help?’
‘We all need help from time to time, Andy, even me.’
‘So who helps you?’
‘The guardians. They show me when I’m going astray and redirect my energy.’
‘The guardians?’
She nodded, did not expand.
Deans did not push his luck. ‘I must admit you’ve said some things about the case that have me interested.’
‘Such as?’
‘You mentioned a lift.’ Perhaps the wine had softened him up. ‘Amy did get a lift, or at least one that we know of, on her way out that night. But we haven’t identified the car or the driver yet.’
‘Why don’t we attempt to connect with Amy about it tomorrow?’ Denise suggested enthusiastically.
Deans was curious about the process and rapped his fingertips against the side of his glass. ‘Okay. I’ll need to work it around my enquiries, but that should be fine.’
Denise watched Deans with a fixed grin.
‘What?’ he asked. ‘What’ve I said?’
‘You’ve got it, you know.’
‘What? What have I got?’
She leaned towards him, her eyes flitting around his face. ‘The gift.’
Deans spluttered. ‘Don’t be daft. You’ve had too much vino.’
‘No… I haven’t.’
‘You serious? Come on.’
Denise was unblinking.
Deans sniggered nervously. ‘Why? Why do you say that?’
Her face turned more serious. ‘Have you ever had a tune in your head, turned on the radio, and there it was, perfectly in-sync? Or have you been thinking about someone and the next thing you know they’re contacting you on the phone?’
Deans shrugged. ‘That’s coincidence.’
‘Is it?’ Denise put her glass down. ‘I’m sure you’ve seen condensation shadows on your car windscreen from stickers long since removed?’
Deans frowned and nodded.
She smiled. ‘That’s what I do. I perceive the shadows of spirits. I see their outline and hear their voices. And so could you.’
Deans sat motionless.
‘You just have to tune-in.’
Denise fell silent for a minute, still focusing on Deans.
‘Have you found yourself driving along, and for no apparent reason you shudder at the thought of impending jeopardy, despite the road conditions being perfect?’ she said.
He bobbed his head.
‘That’s your gift,’ she whispered.
‘But nothing happens.’
‘No. It has
already
happened.’
Deans stared at her, slack-jawed, his eyes demanding an explanation.
‘You’re experiencing the spirit forces attempting to connect with you,’ she said.
‘What?’
‘Embrace it. It’s okay.’ She touched his hand. ‘You can manage the signals. I can help you.’
He looked away and pinched his bottom lip between his teeth.
‘Go on,’ she encouraged.
‘Argh!’ he growled, and partially covered his face with a hand.
‘Come on, Andy. You won’t find a safer environment to open up.’
He closed his eyes and kept them tight. ‘I can…’ he paused and rubbed behind his ear. ‘I can read people. Haven’t always. Only since…’ He shook his head.
‘Something happened to you.’
He opened his eyes and stared at Denise.
‘Do you want to tell me about it?’
He raised a brow. ‘Well, it’s no secret. Half of my blood belongs to someone else.’ He chuckled and turned away.
‘You had a near death experience?’
‘I wouldn’t go that far.’
‘And since that time you’ve had an ability to read people, as you put it.’
He nodded.
She beamed a wide smile. ‘Yes, that’s it.’
‘Well,’ he said following an awkward silence, ‘maybe I’d better be making tracks.’
‘Nonsense. You can stay the night here. I have a spare room already set up for guests, and I promise we’ll speak no more of this tonight.’
Deans checked his watch and puffed out his cheeks. ‘Well, I suppose I’ve already drunk too much to drive, and we do still have the rest of the bottle to finish. All right, thank you. I’ll have to leave first thing in the morning though.’
Deans woke at six fifteen, fresher and more alert than at any time during the previous few days. Maybe it was the two bottles of wine, or perhaps it was the crisp cotton sheets and comfortable bed. Either way, he felt a whole lot more human than before, if a little preoccupied.
He had sent Maria a text during the night telling her that he loved her and wished her luck for the morning. Her reply was more pragmatic, but at least they were communicating.
He quietly dressed and slipped out of the front door, making as little noise as possible.
He arrived at his B&B and ran the shower hot as he selected his shirt and tie combo for the day. He wanted to be at the office as early as possible and was feeling more than a degree of guilt for leaving Ranford to get on with the previous day’s enquiries alone.
A rapid rinse, scrub and brush later, he was standing in the empty CID office. A note on Ranford’s desk from DS Jackson informed him there would be a briefing in the conference room at eight thirty. He would need to collar Ranford before it got underway so that he would have something meaningful to contribute.
The action tray was stacked, so he gathered up a bundle and perched himself at Ranford’s desk and started reading through.
Gold was next into the office and gave Deans an unenthusiastic ‘Hello’, before taking herself over to an additional table placed at the end of Mansfield’s desk.
‘How’s it going?’ Deans asked.
‘Not bad, thanks,’ she replied and then pretty much ignored him.
His chatter was not intended as a chat-up, but he guessed she was plagued by blokes cracking on to her, Jackson being a prime case in point.
‘Any progress?’ he asked.
‘No. It was a slow day,’ she replied without looking his way.
A few deathly moments went by and then she spoke again. ‘How did you get on?’
Deans thought about his response. ‘Pretty much the same really. So, how did you get this gig then?’ he asked, diverting attention back to her.
Her face softened. ‘I was offered it by the sarge and thought it’d be good for my personal development, so I agreed to take it on.’
‘Have you been involved in many murder cases before?’
‘No, this is my first.’
Deans had yet to become OIC on a homicide even though he had previously worked six murder cases. It was a big ask, the ultimate ask, and a huge professional compliment.
‘So, how long have you been a DC?’ he asked.
‘Couple of years now.’
‘Wow, you’ve done well to land this job.’
Her big brown eyes lingered on Deans’ face, and then Ranford walked in.
‘Hi, Andy,’ he said and beamed a ‘Hi’ at Gold, who turned back to her work with a disinterested nod.
‘Hi, Paul,’ Deans responded. ‘How did you get on with those other enquiries?’ He flared his lids, gesticulating in Gold’s direction.
‘Not much joy, I’m afraid. The witness Granger did not offer anything we didn’t already know. She only saw Amy inside the bar with the others, and unfortunately, I couldn’t get hold of Warner. How did your enquiries go?’
‘Much the same.’ Deans winked thanks to Ranford.
At precisely eight thirty a.m., they all funnelled through to the Conference Room, which was not exactly a room of splendour. It was narrow and dark with a small window that allowed a token amount of natural light into the room, and two fluorescent strips took up the shortfall. Two tables were butted together end on end with eight chairs set around them. Surely there were more detectives working this case? Deans noticed the blue felt Constabulary board leaning against the end wall and imagined the claustrophobic scene of the press conference.
He sat down next to Ranford facing the window, with Gold, Jackson and two other new detectives taking the remaining seats opposite. Deans tossed Jackson a curled lip, but he did not respond. He appeared only interested only in Gold.
Two suits then entered the room, one male, and one female and took their places at the top of the table. The female officer was the first to speak, introducing herself as Detective Chief Inspector Fowler from Police Headquarters, and then introduced the man on her left as Detective Inspector Crow, also from HQ. DCI Fowler had given the televised press conference.
Clearly a no-nonsense individual, probably in her late forties, she was a shade overweight and exuded extreme confidence. She looked at each officer individually as she addressed the room. For once Jackson had taken his eyes away from Gold.
The DCI stopped on Deans.
‘Here’s a face I don’t recognise,’ she said.
‘DC Deans, Ma’am,’ he said.
‘Ah yes. Our A and S colleague. Well, it’s good to see you, and thank you for your help. I do hope the distance isn’t putting any pressure on your home life.’
Deans flicked a glance at Jackson and saw the corners of his mouth lift.
Wanker
.
‘Thank you, Ma’am,’ Deans replied. ‘In fact my wife is probably glad to have me out of the way for a while.’ His polite smile masked the rising hostility he felt towards Jackson.
At the end of the meeting, Deans had learnt two things; firstly, that there were only six full-time officers working the murder including himself and secondly, no one had any significant information to progress the case. He hoped his meeting later with Denise would change all that.
Back at the office, Deans checked his mobile phone and saw that he had received a text message from Maria during the meeting.
Call me.
Urgently
.
He made his excuses to Ranford and slipped out to the corridor. Maria picked up after only two rings.
‘Where’ve you been? I’ve been trying to reach you for ages,’ she said frantically.
‘In a briefing. What’s up?’
‘I’ve had a bloody crank call, Andy.’
‘What?’
‘A weirdo has called me.’
‘When?’
‘This morning. I ignored the first call because it was early and I thought it was you, but then the calls kept coming until I answered. He knows my name, Andy. He called me Maria Deans.’
‘Who did? What the hell did he say?’
‘He knew my name,’ Maria repeated.
‘Okay, but what did he say?’
‘I assumed it was someone you must know, but he sounded too young. He kept going on about my beautiful eyes.’
‘What?’ Deans said sharply, and pressed the phone closer to his ear.
‘He mentioned you as well. A message I had to give you.’
‘What message?’ Deans was now searching the corridor for an unoccupied room.
‘He said I had to tell you that eyes don’t always see the truth, or something bloody odd like that. Look, it’s really freaked me out, Andy.’
Deans’ mind flashed to Amy as she lay amongst the boulders. A shiver shook him to the core.
‘Where are you now?’ he asked, backing into a darkened room, full of desks and computers.
‘Why, what’s wrong, Andy?’
‘Nothing’s wrong,’ he said quickly. ‘What time are you due at the hospital?’
‘I’m there now. We’ve been sitting in the car waiting for you to get back to me.’
‘I’m sorry, babe. I’m glad your parents are with you.’
‘Who the hell was it, Andy?’
‘I don’t know who it was, Maria.’ He was not strictly lying. ‘What time are you expecting to be out from the hospital, honey?’
‘About midday… Andy, you never call me honey. If you need to tell me something you’d better start now.’
‘Honestly, Maria, I’ve no idea who it was. It was probably some kids messing around. Don’t give it any more thought, okay?’
‘Not good enough, Andy. Tell me how he knew my name.’
‘I don’t know. Look, did he call on your mobile or the landline?’
‘Landline.’
‘Okay, let me make some calls and I’ll see what I can do. Just, don’t worry about it anymore. It’s over. I take it you did 1471?’
‘Of course I did 1471. The number was withheld.’
‘Do you know what time the call was made?’
‘The one I answered was around eight forty-five but the calls started at least two hours before that.’
‘Okay, leave it with me. Now, get yourself settled and relaxed for the scan.’
‘Will you call me later?’ she asked firmly.
‘Yeah, course I will. I want to hear how it all went. We’ll speak later. Good luck, babe. Love you.’
He waited until Maria cut the connection, and then launched a metal bin across the room, crashing it against the far wall.
Who the fuck was it?
They were ex-directory. Deans had to wise up to protect Maria, and quickly.
He called Savage immediately and requested a marked unit keep a high profile near to his house throughout the day.
‘What shall I tell the guys to look out for?’ Savage asked.
‘Wish I knew, Mick,’ Deans said. ‘It’s possible he’s got a dark-coloured Golf. Other than that, we’re looking for a white male.’