Authors: James D Mortain
Faced with a further long delay, they headed back to the station at Torworthy. Deans was quiet throughout the journey.
An envelope from the intelligence department was waiting for Sarah on her desk. She opened the package and removed a report.
Babbage had no history. No previous convictions, no cautions, no logged calls to the police, no census details, DSS or social housing records. He was off the radar.
‘Clean as a whistle,’ Sarah said.
‘Maybe,’ Deans replied, and took the sheet from her.
Jackson came into the office. ‘What are you both doing here?’
‘Gathering further evidence before we go into the next interview,’ Sarah said.
‘How did it go?’ Jackson asked.
‘He’s sacked his brief,’ Deans said. ‘He’s going it alone.’
‘He’s doing what?’ Jackson’s pitch climbed.
‘Any other updates for us?’ Deans asked.
‘Yeah,’ Jackson said, ‘the phone belongs to Amy.’
‘Yes,’ Deans shouted, clenching his fist. He turned away from them both and mouthed
Thank you, Amy
.
Jackson threw another envelope onto the table. ‘Phone reports from high tech crime,’ he said.
Deans removed the papers and spread them out onto the table. The report included all call and text history one month prior to the date Amy went missing and up to the date the phone was located. These reports usually took much longer to come through. Jackson had done well and pulled some useful strings.
The last outgoing call was at 18:41 hours on Saturday the 4th October, to Scott Parsons. Probably their last meeting arrangement, but certainly Amy’s final call.
Deans scanned the text data and read the last message sent at 22:36 hours that same day:
Hi Mummy, hope all is well with Aunty Jayne, you and Daddy. Having a great night. Speak soon. Love you all loads XXX
.
Deans bowed his head and imagined how Mrs Poole had probably read that message a hundred times over since Amy went missing. If that was their last contact then at least it was a loving message. Few bereaved shared the same fate.
Deans called over to Sarah, ‘What have you got for the last incoming call?’
She flicked through the back pages. ‘It looks like the battery died on the fifth; nothing since then.’
Deans fell silent. That was impossible.
Babbage was clearly confident that he no longer required a solicitor. The inspector had already been into his cell, attempting to tick all the policy boxes by convincing him that each solicitor was independent and working for his best interests. Ultimately, that was all he could do. The police could not suggest or recommend what Babbage should do, and Deans did not care one way or the other, so long as nothing was going to come back and bite him on the arse twelve months down the line at court.
Although it was late, Jackson had directed them to interview Babbage again before the end of the day, and so they had all returned to the interview room.
What is going on in your head?
Deans thought, as Babbage grinned his way through Sarah’s introduction. Why was this all so inconsequential to him? It was baffling. Just as much as why he had asked for Deans in the first place.
They had already agreed not to hold back – hit him with the new evidence. Give him some sticky answers to find. He had messed them about, and now at last they had something concrete to put to him.
‘Tell us about the iPhone found in your garage,’ Sarah said.
Babbage did not acknowledge her, let alone answer the question. He was facing Deans, unnervingly emotionless. Not even blinking.
Deans had two options. Let it slide and indulge Babbage with his moment, or hit it head on, meet eyeball with eyeball and show that he was not intimidated. He decided on the latter.
‘Ash,’ Sarah said, trying to break the checkmate. ‘Ash, will you look at me, please?’
Deans bet that was something she had not expected to say after the first couple of interviews.
Babbage smirked, and turned towards Sarah.
‘Tell me everything about the phone,’ she said.
Babbage pursed his lips and waited for half a minute.
‘No,’ he said calmly, and tilted a look back at Deans.
‘Explain how the phone came into your possession,’ Sarah continued.
A sinister laugh spewed from Babbage.
Deans could feel an up-surging lump of revulsion in his chest.
‘Who does the phone belong to?’ Sarah said, doing her best to stick with the interview plan.
Babbage’s left eye narrowed in a millisecond twitch. Deans leant forward. The thought of Amy had brought about an emotion. Had he pictured her face in that instant? Or, was his reflection full of far more disturbing images?
‘Explain how the phone came to be in your garage,’ Sarah persisted.
Babbage studied her face, taking in every aspect of her features, and then broke his silence.
‘Very pretty,’ he said softly. ‘Very pretty, Detective Deans. Wouldn’t you agree?’
Deans noticed Sarah fold one leg over the other and turn slightly towards the wall.
‘I wonder what Maria would make of this?’ Babbage continued.
Deans did not react, outwardly.
‘Haven’t you got lovely eyes? Detective Gold, isn’t it?’
Sarah shifted in her seat once more and hooked wayward strands of hair behind her ear. It was time for Deans to join the party.
‘What’s this all about, Babbage?’
‘Don’t you know, Detective?’ he hissed, turning towards Deans in an instant.
‘Enlighten me.’
‘“Enlighten me”? Just like that, Detective? “Enlighten me”?’
‘The phone my colleague has been asking you about belongs to Amy Poole.’
This time there was no visual reaction from Babbage. A more emotive description was required if it was to stir his indifference.
‘Amy Poole, who was murdered, mutilated, and dumped on a beach.’
Babbage’s attention resumed onto Sarah.
‘You’re too pretty to be a police officer. I bet you are very popular with the boy police, am I right?’
Sarah was unable to maintain eye contact with Babbage, her cheeks increasingly flushed. Deans needed to regain control.
‘This isn’t her interview, Babbage, it’s yours,’ he said, his voice wavering on aggressive. ‘You’ve been arrested on suspicion of murdering Amy Poole and you’re being asked to account for why her mobile phone was found in your garage.’
You piece of shit
.
Babbage ignored Deans and spoke to Sarah again. ‘Are you two getting it on yet?’
Sarah twisted her body and faced the wall.
‘Okay, that’s enough,’ Deans said. ‘The time is now twenty-two sixteen hours. This interview is being suspended.’
‘What? Have we finished already?’ Babbage said jovially. ‘But I haven’t answered my questions.’
‘You’re going back into your cell,’ Deans snarled. ‘I think that’ll do us for the night.’
Sarah nodded approval from behind her daybook.
‘But I’m not finished,’ Babbage replied, holding his hands out in front of him.
Deans got to his feet and moved towards the door. ‘It’s over. No more questions tonight. You had your chance, but instead you wanted to be a prick.’
Babbage walked directly over to Deans. Babbage was significantly shorter, but still stood toe to toe. Deans tensed up, his vision tunnelled. Fight, flight or flirt. He was certainly ready for one of those options and it did not involve running or shagging.
‘Poor Maria,’ Babbage said under his breath, but loud enough so that Sarah could hear. He lifted himself onto the toes of his plimsolls. ‘No wonder she left you.’ He sidestepped Deans and tugged at the door. A detention officer was already waiting to take him away.
Deans was raging inside, bursting for just ten seconds alone with Babbage away from the cameras. That was all he needed to feel a whole lot better.
‘You okay?’ Sarah asked.
‘Fine,’ Deans snapped, and then noticed how withdrawn Sarah appeared.
‘Hey, how are you bearing up? You did well,’ he said.
‘Sorry,’ she said shaking her curtains of fine blonde hair. ‘He’s freaking me out.’
‘I completely understand. Come on.’ Deans put his arm around her shoulders. ‘Let’s see if the others are around.’
They left the interview room and met a determined Jackson in the corridor.
‘Why the fuck did you stop it there, Deans?’ Jackson seethed. ‘He was at least speaking, which is more than he has done up to now.’
‘He was pissing us around,’ Deans bit back. ‘We still have plenty of time on the clock to play with.’
‘Oh we do, do we? This is just a game, is it? There are people depending on you getting results.’
‘Well, unless you have an update for us, we’re still waiting on the forensic results. At least then, we could put a proper interview to him. In the meantime I’m knackered and I need some sleep.’
‘Or maybe you didn’t want Gold answering his question?’ Jackson said snidely and turned away. ‘Seven a.m., sharp. Both of you,’ he said over his shoulder and walked briskly back the way he came.
‘Since when does that knob-head care about other people?’ Deans said, watching Jackson vanish around the corner.
Sarah shrugged.
‘Can you just give me ten minutes, please?’ Deans asked her.
‘Sure… of course. I’ll wait in the car shall I?’
‘Thanks.’
‘See you in a bit then,’ she said, and glumly trailed in the direction that Jackson had taken.
Deans had not spoken to Maria for what seemed like an age, which was her decision, but right then he really needed to hear her voice. He returned to the quiet room and dialled her mobile number.
The person you are calling is not available. Please leave a message after the tone
. ‘Oh, come on, give me a break,’ he said to the screen, before the beep prompted his message.
‘Hi, Maria. It’s me. I know you said you didn’t want me contacting you, but… I’m missing you.’ He ran a hand down his face. ‘It’d be nice to talk; to know you’re okay… nothing more than that.’ He swallowed deeply. ‘Things have gone a bit mental for me these last few days and I want…’ his voice faltered. ‘…I need you to know that I love you.’
Deans met up with Sarah at the car in much less than ten minutes. He sat on the passenger side, dropped the seat and closed his eyes. Sarah waited silently for a moment and then started the engine.
They drove for several minutes before she spoke.
‘So, where are we going after we drop the kit off?’
Deans kept his head back and his eyes shut. ‘I hope you’ve got lots of alcohol at your place. I really need a drink.’
‘I have more than enough,’ Sarah said obligingly.
They continued the journey in silence until they reached the station. The time was nearing midnight. Seven hours until it all started again.
Deans followed Sarah in his car towards her address, providing him with undisturbed time to think. Sarah was very attractive, but the thought of chit-chatting for hours really was not appealing, though a shot or two of something strong most certainly was, along with a few good hours of shut-eye.
Soon they were on the other side of the estuary pulling up outside of a semi-detached town house with a parking space that Sarah took.
Deans checked his phone. No messages, but more frustratingly, no signal.
Sarah held the front door open; Deans followed her inside to a flight of stairs and a hallway large enough to store a pushbike but not much else. As they ascended the steps, he could not help but notice her bottom, only inches from his face, the tight-fitting light grey trousers leaving nothing much for him to imagine. At the top, Sarah provided a courteous explanation of where each room was and then dived into a large refrigerator and pulled out a chilled bottle of Sauvignon Blanc. She poured two generous glasses, and handed one to Deans.
‘Cheers,’ he said, took a large mouthful and glanced around. The room was decorated in vibrant colours with numerous foreign-looking knick-knacks and tribal facemasks attached to the walls.
‘Take a seat,’ she said, removing her jacket, and walking towards the bedroom.
There was only one seat in the room – a bright-red two-person sofa. He tested the resistance of the leather, sat down, and took a swig from his glass.
Am I supposed to sleep on this?
he thought.
Sarah walked back into the room and sat beside him. She had not changed, but the top two buttons of her blouse were now undone to reveal the youthful firmness of her cleavage. Deans identified the waft of freshly applied scent as she turned to face him, legs tucked up yoga-style, accentuating her taut lower limbs. She took a cushion and hugged it between her glass and body.
Deans looked away and slugged another mouthful. The wine tasted good, and if he was being honest, so was being there with Sarah.
‘Nice place,’ he said.
She smiled, and sipped her wine. ‘It’s nice to have some company. It can get lonely living here and having a job like ours.’
‘I’ll drink to that,’ he said, and gulped another mouthful.
‘So how did you get involved down here?’ she asked.
‘I guess I’m lucky.’
‘No, seriously. How’s it you came to be on this case?’
‘I was involved from the outset.’ He paused – that already felt like so long ago. ‘The job came to me as a MISPER. You know how they start, and before I knew it, I was down here.’ He sank the remainder of his glass. ‘And then not long after that, the body was found.’
‘So, why do you think Babbage is interested in you?’
Deans winced. The name alone irked him beyond comprehension.
‘I met him in the early stages of the investigation. He works in an alternative therapy shop-cum-clinic. Whatever you want to call it.’
‘Rayon Vert,’ Sarah said.
‘That’s right.’
‘Tell me to mind my own business,’ she said, squeezing the cushion, ‘but were the rumours right about you and the woman that works there?’
‘Absolutely not. Denise has been very helpful to the investigation.’
‘Oh, okay. Good.’
Deans recognised the possible significance of the word ‘good’ and felt the need to clarify.
‘She made me some food, we chatted and I stayed over because we had some wine. Just like now, really.’